


Higher Than the Truth

by jmcats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Double Date fic, Drug Use, M/M, Uni AU, lourry, ziam, ziam smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:57:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 50,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmcats/pseuds/jmcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Liam’s starting to realize he’s spent just a little too much time daydreaming about a gorgeous guy with dark hair, interesting tattoos, and eyes that are six different shades of brown? Or maybe his an idiot for letting Louis set up this silly double date.  Maybe he needs to pick better best mates. Maybe he’s just overthinking everything.</p>
<p>Or maybe this is a story where Louis loves his coffee, Niall loves changing his mind, Liam loves the thought of falling in love, Harry loves Instagram (and selfies and weed and Louis), and Zayn loves dorky boys who never make the first move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Higher Than the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to write a fic based off of this silly picture: [Double Date](http://jmcats.tumblr.com/post/51535679120/cantgetnoworseee-he-is-kneeling-on-the-fucking). This is what happened and I really hope it didn't turn out too horribly because I could've ended it somewhere in the middle but kept going for some reason.
> 
> The title comes from "Falling" by HAIM and I really hope you check it out because it's a wickedly good song.
> 
> A huge thank you to [Safaa](http://unfortunate17.tumblr.com) for all of her assistance/suggestions with various parts. Thank you Noel too for your help in the beginning.
> 
> Warning: I do not have any knowledge on University life in England and my British slang is probably way off too. Tons of swearing, some smut, and quite a bit of drug use in here too.

Liam thinks falling for someone is probably something like a hangover after a truly smashing bender.  You know, the kind of night where you take shots of tequila, suck on the juices of a lime until that awful taste becomes numb at the back of your throat, and wash it all down with a gulp of Coke.  Not a night of chasing cheap wine coolers or beer with water because you’re fifteen and think water is going to truly sober you up before your parents find out you’ve been drinking.  Or a night of drinking stuff like whiskey or bourbon because, honestly, that kind of love is either exceptionally lazy or just plain mean.

No, falling for someone is a night of getting shitfaced and trying to stumble your way to a porcelain heaven.  It’s waking up the next morning with a throb right along your temple because that person sort sticks with you long after they’re gone.  It’s that dizzy sensation, feeling weightless at four in the morning while chatting on the phone.  That cottonmouth feeling from one too many shots – or not being able to say the right words to someone who makes you feel lightheaded.  It’s the way your stomach lurches at too much motion because, honestly, when you find what you think is the right person, you get a little sick.  In a good way, but still.  And the way everything is too loud, too bright, too fucking annoying.  Yeah, that’s what falling for someone feels like because everything feels dulled, washed out, and aggravating until that person comes around again.

At least, that’s how he wants to picture it.

It didn’t feel anything like that with his last girlfriend.  She was a bitter pill to swallow most days because he was still in Sixth Form, putting more focus on his grades and trying to get that scholarship to give her the attention she wanted.  She was something like a glass of rum and Coke – it’s good for the first couple of sips but then it’s just a poor substitute for whatever high you can’t get from something else.  Not that she wasn’t beautiful with her honey skin, curly hair, deep brown eyes, lips that were quite talented when she put in the effort to giving him a proper blowjob.  But she was also quite adept at complaining, reminding him that he was average or still just a pup in this giant world.

She was sort of like that hangover one has after spending the night passed out in the middle of the street with your friends taking a piss at you.

He doesn’t think it was much better with that one guy he spent the last part of Upper Sixth Form fooling around with.  Liam wouldn’t call him a ‘boyfriend.’  He doesn’t think that seems like an appropriate title for someone he spent more than a few nights giving fumbling handjobs underneath the covers in his bedroom rather than kissing and whispering what they meant to each other behind the shadows of the night.  And he always complained when Liam went down on him – “Too much _teeth_.” “The _head_ , Liam, for Christ’s sake.” “More _tongue_.” “Are you blowing me or pretending you’re a vacuum?  Honestly.”  They spent more time on the floor of his bedroom, queuing up films that Liam wanted to watch while this guy reminded Liam he had shit taste in _everything_.

Liam thinks this boy – He knows his name but Louis has deemed him ‘The Boy Who Shall Not Be Named Because He Was a Dick to My Best Mate,’ a title that Liam reminds Louis all the time is far too long.  Louis says he likes having a mouthful and Liam always lets it go. – was probably just bidding his time with Liam.  Liam wishes he could say it was a mutual feeling but Liam kind of liked him.  Maybe he liked the way his kisses, when they did kiss, tasted like Cherry Coke, watermelon bubblegum, and that cheap weed he used to smoke.  He might’ve been a bit fond of the way, when Liam least expected it, he’d compliment Liam’s eyes before telling him his palms were too sweaty.  Or maybe it was that little thing he did when he was giving Liam a wank – you know, that flick of the wrist that most guys can do really well but girls are quite awful at?  Still, Liam knows it wasn’t enough to keep him around when they started applying for Universities.

They were just boys, though, right?  What would they know about love?  They were more like a night of lukewarm wine coolers – all fizz and light buzzes that seemed to go away way too quickly.

Louis reminds him – more times than he’s asked for – that falling in love is like spotting a shooting star in the sky: You’re lucky if it ever happens in your lifetime.  Liam thinks Louis’ always been a pessimist though – Harry’s the more optimistic one and Liam wonders if maybe that’s one of the many reasons they fit together so well.  But Louis’ sort of been his best mate since they were ten, playing footie in Liam’s backyard while his mum made them lemonade and muffins.  And Louis may be a bit brash, – “Honestly, Li, the fucker smelled _horrible_.  Did he ever shower?  And I think he was doing some major drugs.  Like, more than just getting high off of dangerously cheap cannabis.  Like, cocaine or something.” – he was always painfully honest with Liam about things in life.  Liam thinks it’s probably why he’s never drifted far from Louis, despite his better judgment telling him otherwise.

Louis’ quite loveable though.  He’s that tall drink of Sex on the Beach that you should’ve grown out of when you graduated to taking shots but it’s your go-to drink, you know?  He’s always gentle when Liam needs it most, sighing through all of Liam’s heartbreaks and downfalls with an arm around Liam’s shoulders and a kiss on his cheek.  He’s brilliant – Liam knows he wouldn’t have passed that silly Advanced Philosophy course he foolishly took their last term without Louis – and he always tells the best jokes, unlike Liam who stumbles through more than half of his own.  And maybe Liam’s just a bit of a sucker for the way Louis is about Harry – always tentative, endearing, calm when Harry’s manic, and it’s almost as though the prat Louis was when they were in Tenth Year has settled ever since Harry came around.

“He’s not going anywhere, you know.  He does the same thing every fucking day.  You can sip your damn tea and the little shit will still be sitting there,” Louis tells him, his voice a straining hiss that burns Liam’s ears.  “Honestly, Liam, when you’re quite finished fawning over him, you might find out that I’m still fucking sitting here.”

Did he mention Louis is quite brash?  Well, he usually is when he hasn’t had his coffee.  Like now, when he’s sitting across from Liam with a jiggling leg, fingers rapping against the shaky table they always sit at like it’s _their_ table.  He hasn’t put it past Louis to openly declare that to any customer in the coffee shop if they’re sitting there when they come in almost every morning, except nobody really wants to sit at this old table in the corner, closest to the window.  Not the one that’s a little off-center, shaky, with the old chairs that have no real cushion left to them, far from the counter or that good spot in the shop where the Wi-Fi works the best.

Louis’ a complete wreck without his coffee.  He’s snappy, rude, wound up for reasons other than it being early in the morning or because it’s starting to really get cold outside now that it’s almost December.  It’s who he’s always been since he was fifteen and quite addicted to having a cup of the stuff before school every morning.  Liam’s learned to tolerate it; he wishes he could say the same for the rest of civilization but he might find it a bit amusing when Louis rips all of the baristas a new one until someone brings him a tall cup with a healthy dose of sugar, some cream, hazelnut shavings, and a drop of milk.

“I’m going to die,” Louis whines, slouching down into his seat, his head tipped back.

Liam chews on his lip, breathing in that heady scent from his tea.  It’s simple: cream, a touch of vanilla and cinnamon with a heavy dose of honey.  Louis thinks it’s too sweet.  Liam thinks Louis is dramatic.  They’ve agreed not to agree on these subjects long ago.

“Oh hush up,” Liam says, reaching across the table to placate Louis by rubbing the back of his hand.  He’s not quite in the mood for this side of Louis, ever.  “She’ll be back soon.”

“It’s been thirty minutes,” Louis shoots back, eyes narrowed.

“It’s been _five_ minutes,” Liam argues softly, eyes glancing down to his watch.  “Six now.”

“Forever,” Louis sighs, eyes rolling when Liam smirks at him.

“Prat.”

“Masochist.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” Liam teases him with a coppery smile, drawing his hand back.

“Something about ball torture or dripping hot wax on someone, I think,” Louis says, waving Liam off when his eyes grow large.  “Doesn’t matter.  I want my coffee.”

“You’re a right spoiled brat,” Liam tells him, head shaking before he takes a slow sip of his tea.

“Yes, well, blame yourself,” Louis replies defiantly, tipping his chin upward.  He drags his small nails over the worn wood of the table, groaning.  “And Harry.”

Liam blames Harry, not that he tells Louis that.  It’s not that Harry bends to Louis’ every whim but he’s rather brilliant at ensuring Louis’ happy.  How he goes about it is something Liam never wants to hear about in detail, not that Louis or Harry keep that to themselves.  Still, Liam likes to think he only hears about it when he’s two drinks away from being pissed.  Or incredibly sleepy.

“Besides, I have a right to act like this,” Louis adds, a curl to his words that leaves Liam eyeing him curiously.  Louis grins, large and proud before jerking his head to the right.  “You’re too busy making eyes at Zayn to even notice my existence.  Coffee makes me feel better about that.”

Liam swallows, tries to hide his blush behind the steam of his tea but it feels like a useless plan.  Louis’ azure eyes are already bright, teasing him without words.  The tea burns against his tongue, but he doesn’t mind if it means he can buy himself a little time to not talk about how he may or may not be distracted by that boy in the corner of the coffee shop.  How he might _always_ be distracted by him, something he doesn’t have to tell any of his mates.  It’s just there.  It has been since that first week of classes, when they were both lost trying to find their Lit class, and fuck, Liam kind of hates that the best way he could chat the other boy up was with that stupid _“Hi, I’m Liam”_ line he’s used enough times to know it never works.

That’s how this thing started.  This endless fascination with the boy with long eyelashes that swept across his cheeks likes black satin.  The boy with those defined cheeks, sometimes covered in scruff but most days clean-shaven to show off the sharp angle of his jaw.  The one with the nicely shaped eyebrows that accented those brown, no, _hazel_ eyes.  The eyes that Liam spent more than half of that Lit class trying to pick out all of the colors like the gold when the sun is out, the olive when it’s cloudy, the almond color when it rains, the freckled rust and flaxen shade when Zayn’s looking intently at his notepad while scribbling notes.  And those lips that look raw and chapped but impossibly smooth whenever Zayn’s teeth nip at them.  Fuck, Liam hasn’t thought about kissing them, feeling them on his skin, across his belly before Zayn’s mouth slides a little lower.  Yeah, Liam may or may not jerk off to that image alone twice a week.

Liam takes a healthy swallow of his tea, missing half of Louis’ ramblings about how much he hates this coffee shop – He’s lying.  It’s the only place around the University Louis will venture to daily for his fix. – to run his eyes over that tall quiff, gelled black hair staying stiff as Zayn bows his head.  He traces his vision over those long, nimble fingers that are smeared with black and green paint along the tips, faded against his knuckles.  He can barely taste the vanilla in his tea now, watching those fingers switch between holding a pencil, then a Sharpie.  That tongue licks out in concentration, Zayn tilting his head a little to scribble furiously across his sketchpad.

He’s bunched into that corner, back against a set of old throw pillows, kneels pulled up close so no one else can really look down onto his paper.  He doesn’t really look up, too content with what he’s drawing, unless a waitress stops by to ask if he wants anything.  He never does.  He’s offers them all a polite smile, sinful in its beauty, with a small shake of his head that has most of the girls, and the guys too, giggling before turning away from him.

Liam feels embarrassed that he knows Zayn’s routine.  He hates how he flushes because it’s not all he knows.  He knows Zayn is majoring in English, though he might change it to Art Design next term.  He likes to listen to Bruno Mars, sometimes rap, while he studies in the library.  He bites his lip when he’s nervous, when he doesn’t know an answer to a question their professor asks which is rare because Zayn is some kind of brilliant whiz kid.  He’s brighter than Louis, which seems to tick Louis off to no end but only because Louis always wants to be ‘top banana’ – “Fuck, Liam, stop saying that.  It’s not going to catch on.”  He smiles at Liam’s jokes, the ones that Liam can manage to get out when he’s not completely stuttering over all of his words whenever Zayn’s around.  He’s from Bradford, has never really been anywhere in England until coming to Chester.

He doesn’t know if he considers Zayn a mate, not like Louis seems to even though Liam can count the conversations Louis and Zayn have exchanged on one hand.  But maybe it’s because Zayn is rather friendly with Harry – “You think he wants to shag him?  No.  He’s not that daft.  Or Harry’s type,” Louis says one morning.  Liam thinks the Gods of Olympus are probably more Zayn’s type – that Louis thinks so.  Or it might be because he’s seen Zayn chatting with Niall more than a few times, Eleanor and a few other people Liam is acquainted with through Louis.  But they’re not exactly strangers either, though Liam thinks they might as well be.  They might as well have never met because Liam spends more time staring at the poor chap than actually speaking to him.

Liam’s pretty sure Zayn has that effect on quite a few people.  He’s honestly beautiful in an off-putting way but that’s because Liam figures he’s rather ordinary compared to Zayn.  He’s wide shoulders, dull brown eyes, obscenely round cheeks that push his eyes closed when he laughs too hard.  He’s fit, yeah, but it’s nothing that draws eyes to him.  He’s just sort of _there_ when compared to someone like Zayn.

He sighs resignedly, tapping his fingers over the table while sipping on his tea.  Some days, he doesn’t even know why he bothers.

“Did I do something wrong in a past life?  I swear, if this is the higher beings’ way of punishing me for that time I pants Niall at McDonald’s, I do not regret it,” Louis declares, his fingers biting into a balled up napkin now with a curl to his upper lip.  He shakes his head rebelliously, adding, “Nope, not at all.”

“Oi, quit your crying Tomlinson.  They fucked up your order and I had to do it myself.”

Liam grins behind his Styrofoam cup, peeking up through his lashes to Phoebe.  She’s wavy hair swept up into a messy, sideways ponytail with doe brown eyes and a cheeky smile that dares Louis to scowl at her.  He tries but fails, grinning when she slides a tall cup of coffee his way.  Her lips push sideways, hands on her hips, eyeing him as he cups both hands around the cup, grinning wickedly at the billowing steam and the swirl of cream in the middle.

“You’re an angel,” Louis sighs, still eyeing the cup.  He’s hunched over the table, grinning down into the coffee.

“Probably not what you were saying five seconds ago,” Phoebe says back, cocking her hip with a smirk.

“I wasn’t talking to _you_ ,” Louis says in a clipped tone, glaring up at her for a second before focusing his eyes on his cup again.  “I was talking to _this_.”

Liam snorts into his tea while Phoebe rolls her eyes.  She taps her foot against the floor, annoyance setting into her expression.

“Tosser,” Phoebe sighs out, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Love you too Pheebs,” Louis bites out, taking a long gulp of the coffee.

Liam knows it’s still too hot but Louis doesn’t care.  He never does.  He needs it, slinking back into his seat like he’s experiencing one of those orgasms that makes your toes curl.  Liam’s not sure how Harry’s never jealous of that stupid drink, but then again, Harry’s too laidback to be jealous over anything.

“I’m sending another girl over if you need anything else.  You disturb me,” Phoebe says with a drawn out sigh, ruffling her fingers through Louis’ stiff hair.

Louis swats her hand away, slurping on his coffee.  “But you’re my favorite.”

“Didn’t you say that to Jade last week?” Phoebe asks, folding her arms over her chest while giving him an expectant look.

Liam offers Louis a small shrug when he turns to Liam for help.  He’s decided a long time ago never to come between Louis and getting caught in his own shit.  Not since they were sixteen and Louis got caught snogging that kid Jason at Eleanor’s birthday party.  Eleanor didn’t speak to Liam for a month after that – even longer for Louis, not that he was particularly invested in that relationship anyways – and he sort of regrets all of it.

“I know not of what you speak,” Louis says offhandedly, another large sip of his coffee smoothing a smile over those pink lips.

Phoebe rolls her eyes timely, kicking his foot under the table before stomping off with a proud grin.

Liam knows she’ll be back.  It’s an even trade that she and Louis share: he’s a dick to her and she takes extra-long preparing his coffee.  Liam wonders if Louis will ever catch onto that.

“You should ask him out,” Louis says between sips, arching an eyebrow at Liam.  “I mean we have to make progress at some point with this thing.”

“There is no _‘thing,’_ ” Liam declares immediately, ducking his head when Zayn lifts his eyes.  It’s only for a brief moment, scanning the café before he’s burying himself in that damn sketchpad again.

“Oh, there’s a _‘thing.’_   It’s large and big like Harry’s dick,” Louis hisses, his voice far from hushed.

Liam feels his cheeks pink before any of the other customers’ eyes can fall on their table.  Louis’ quite adept at ignoring all of the looks, the little glares he gets wherever he goes.  It’s a simple _‘Fuck you and you had a better love me’_ attitude that Louis wears better than those silly stripped shirts with a pair of braces and rolled up trousers he wore all throughout secondary school.

“It’s not,” Liam sighs lowly, dropping his head some when an elderly woman gives him a look.

Louis grins brightly at her before flipping her off, turning back to Liam.  “It _is_.  I have pictures.  Would you like to see pictures?  I have a fucking collage of that thing.  It’s gorgeous.  It’s the wallpaper on my laptop.”

Liam sighs loudly, gulping the last of his tea.  Somehow, he wishes it was laced with Hennessey instead of honey.

“I don’t want to see pics of Harry’s prick, Lou,” Liam whispers, his voice strained with frustration.

Louis’ lips are stained with pride.  “It’s beautiful.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Coming from you, the expert?  I take that as a compliment,” Louis tells him, rocking back in his chair.  The front legs hover off the ground, Louis’ arms crossing over his chest rebelliously.

“Fuckwad.”

Louis smirks.  “I’ve taught you so many colorful words, Li.  I’m so proud that you’re learning to use them properly.”

Liam smiles at that, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.  Louis truly was an awful influence over his life, whether he openly admitted it or not.

“I still don’t know why you can’t ask him out.  He’s quite obviously into cock like you,” Louis rattles off, chuckling when one of the baristas nearly drops a tray of drinks while passing them.  He kicks a foot up on an empty chair, reaching for his coffee.  “Just do it.”

“How would you know what he’s into?” Liam hisses out, running his index finger over the rim of his cup.  He avoids looking up at Louis, biting impatiently at his lip.  He knows his eyes are large and the unconvinced look he wants to give Louis will do little to dissuade Louis from this conversation.

He sort of hates Louis in the most tolerable way he’s ever known.

Louis tilts his head a little, piqued interest waning just a little.  He looks unimpressed with the way Liam’s fiddling with his cup, dragging his fingers over the table, completely avoiding Louis’ eyes for too long – or looking at Zayn, but he’s practiced this whole routine enough to know all of the steps.

“I had Harry ask him,” Louis says with a small shrug, looking completely unaffected by the way Liam’s eyes become wider, his mouth falling open.  “What?  Do you honestly expect me to watch my best mate wet his trousers over a chap for this long and not find some things out?  I’m offended.”

Liam shoots him an incredulous look.  “You’re never offended.”

“I am.  I am offended by large women in flower-print dresses.  Screaming babies.  People who wear the color white when it’s fucking snowing outside like, come on, _that_ color of all colors?  And guys who name their dicks,” Louis retorts.

Liam chuckles to himself.  He knows that particular hatred is because of a rather amusing discussion with Niall – “I call him Harold.” “Oh, fuck off.  You’re mental.” “ _He_ seems to like it.”

“Oh, and Robert Pattinson,” Louis adds with a raised finger, slurping at his coffee.  He smirks when Liam arches an eyebrow, clearing his throat before saying, “I don’t get it.  Like does he always have to look so, well, _filthy_?  He’s a complete mockery of us Brits.”

“You’re offended by Edward Cullen?” Liam asks, his tone dry.

“I’m offended that you know that little shit’s name in _Twilight_ ,” Louis notes, kicking Liam under the table.  It shakes, nearly knocking Louis’ cup off balance but Louis snatches it up quickly, clinging to it.  He sighs pleasantly before adding, “And, yes, I hate that fuck.  He’s the definition of offensive.”

“You’re mental.  You sure you haven’t been tested?” Liam teases, chewing at his lip with a grin.

Louis rolls his eyes timely, downing the last of his coffee before turning the cup upside down on the table.

“Seriously, Liam, it’s not like we’re not all mates,” Louis starts, waving a dismissive hand around when Phoebe eyes him from behind the counter.

“You and Zayn are _not_ friends,” Liam cuts in.

“We _are_ ,” Louis argues, trying not to look wounded by Liam’s words.  “He just doesn’t chat with me as much as he does Hazza.  Or Niall.  Or you.”

“Or half this University?” Liam offers, smirking.

Louis fixes his lips together, an effortless lift of his middle finger for Liam.  He smiles brightly, flicking at his empty coffee cup.

“Anyways, I’m certain he wouldn’t be opposed to going out with you, despite how obviously boring you can be,” Louis declares, feathering his fingers into his hair until some of the product starts to give and he can fiddle with the fringe.

“’m not,” Liam argues, his voice far from convincing.

“Spending a Saturday night in your room reading comic books and drinking Pepsi is not exactly an ideal first date,” Louis says flatly, eyeing Liam through narrowed slits.

Liam snorts, nodding.  “Neither is Pop Tarts and juice boxes.”

“Hey!  We were thirteen and El hasn’t complained not one time about it,” Louis snaps, his tone far more offended than angry.

“Not to _you_ ,” Liam whistles out, his cheeks pushing high on his face with a grin.

Louis offers Liam two middle fingers this time, nearly tipping off of his chair.  The legs scrape against the floor when he settles himself, hands slamming against the table and knocking the empty cups off.  Phoebe doesn’t look impressed.

“Quit being chicken shit and ask the bloody weirdo out before I do it for you,” Louis warns.

Liam tries not to look taken aback but it’s hard not to with Louis.  If Louis is anything, it’s determined.  And a man of his word.  Two things Liam has never taken for granted… or lived without fear of.

“He’s bluffing.”

Liam feels some sense of relief wash over him when Harry slides into the empty seat next to Louis, a plate full of muffins and biscuits already piled high.  He’s picking at the muffins, dragging crumbs to those cherry red lips with a grin, sparkling green eyes a bit dim.  Those soft, thick curls he usually lets spring around are hidden beneath a faded orange beanie and his cheeks are pink from the cold outside.  He shrugs out of his jacket, nudging Louis’ ribs playfully before nodding a greeting to Liam.  His dimple flares when Louis slaps his arm, shrugging as he crams pieces of muffin into his mouth.

“You can’t encourage him when I’m trying to scare the shit out of my best mate, love,” Louis sighs dramatically, slumping in his chair.

Harry nods like he understands but Liam knows he doesn’t.  He never does.

“Sorry Lou.  It’s just that, you know, you’re always giving Liam shit.  I like Liam,” Harry says, a lopsided grin pushing at his lips.

“ _Everyone_ likes Liam.  It’s part of the appeal,” Louis says casually, waving a hand in Liam’s direction.  “All the more reason why I’m giving him shit for not asking out Malik.”

“Oh.” Harry’s looks as if a revelation has stunned him quiet for a moment, pinching at a biscuit.  He nods slowly at Louis, then Liam, shrugging once more.  “Continue then.”

Louis grins victoriously while Liam shoots Harry a look as if to say _‘Really Harry?’_   Harry doesn’t notice, eyes a bit wide and unfocused as he tears into another muffin.

“Coffee Har?” Phoebe asks when she sidles back up to the table, resting a hand on Liam’s shoulder.  She gives him a look like she already knows.  It’s sympathetic, endearing at best.  And it manages to make Liam feel like a complete loser.

“The usual Phoebe Jo,” Harry says with a grin, tipping his head back far so Phoebe to bask in all of its sunniness.  If anything, it was one of the many great things about Harry Styles.  He’s nearly always the voice of happiness.

“Coming right up,” Phoebe shoots back with a quirky smirk, sneering at Louis for a moment before turning away and striding back to the counter.

Liam doesn’t make mention of how quickly Harry’s coffee comes back – exactly two minutes – nor does he tease Louis because it’s almost the same exact order as Louis’, minus the cream and hazelnut.  He sits back in his chair, eyeing the way Harry keeps smacking Louis’ hand away when he reaches for one of those mini-muffins, slurping at his coffee while humming along to whatever’s playing in this almost too shitty coffee shop – _I never wanted another; come over to me and discover. How I want to be near you and you need to be far away._

“Oh, shit, forgot to capture the moment,” Harry blurts out, reaching blindly over the pockets of his trousers until he fishes out his phone.

Louis groans loudly, Liam tipping back with a smirk.  He watches the way Harry’s face turns into one of strict concentration, angling his phone just right before the flash nearly blinds Liam.  Harry’s fingers move deftly over his phone, smirking and frowning all at once before he sighs with a sense of relief.

“You didn’t tag me this time, did you?” Louis asks in a droll tone, nicking a biscuit while Harry scrolls through his phone.

“No.  Just Liam,” Harry replies nonchalantly, still thumbing through his phone.

Liam rolls his eyes almost immediately, the buzz of his phone in his pocket a defiant indication that Harry’s words are true.

“Who would’ve ever thought that I’d fall for the douchebag that Instagrams every fucking moment in his life,” Louis says with a decidedly kind smile on his face, pushing back Harry’s beanie to tangle his fingers around a few of his curls.  “Lucky me.”

Harry grins at him, lips spread far and high across his face.  It’s a bit sickening, the way the two of them fit but Liam’s not afraid to admit he wishes he had something similar – _I look at all of the people doing it over and over._

“You said you love me,” Harry whispers, his voice a scratchy deepness that Liam’s never adjusted to.  The kid looks sixteen with those soft features, the curve of his jaw, the way those eyes still look fascinatingly large like the world is still brand new.  But his voice is smoky, thick, decidedly manly in a way Louis’ never is.

“I did?” Louis asks, pretending to look shocked.  It’s the stupidest game they play, something Liam’s told Louis repeatedly, but he still smiles at them.

“It was a complete mistake.”

“Fucking bullshit, Lou,” Harry laughs out, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Louis’ cheek.

Liam grins at the way Louis’ cheeks are scattered with scarlet blush, a playful shove to Harry’s shoulder knocking the other boy back.  Liam knows Harry won’t stay far for long.  He never does and Louis never complains.

“You’re high,” Louis sighs, rolling his eyes.

Harry shrugs, downing half of what’s left of his coffee in one go.  “Nothing like a morning buzz.”

“I fell in love with the Instagram, coffee-drinking, recreational pothead,” Louis sings out, sniffing at Harry’s coffee before making a face.  “Mum would be so proud.”

“Think so?” Harry asks earnestly and Louis’ bites at his tongue to silence his sarcasm.

“You do know I’m going to get you professional help, yeah?” Louis wonders, nose scrunching when Harry leans back in, buries half of his face into Louis’ neck.  If this were any other day, Liam knows Harry would stay there long enough to warm his nose and cheeks and wait for his next class to start, striding in late as usual.

“For my marijuana addiction?” Harry asks, the words muffled against Louis’ skin.

Louis settles a hand on Harry’s knee, shaking his head.  “Fuck no.  For your Instagram issues.  That shit’s not healthy.”

Harry scoffs, lifting his phone and he snaps off a perfect pic of the two of them without looking.  It’s not grainy or out of focus and Liam thinks he should probably make money off of that kind of talent.  Then again, Louis often reminds Liam that his ideas aren’t really all that brilliant.  Still, Harry would probably make a killing.

“Don’t tag me,” Louis whispers, smirking when Harry tiptoes sloppy kisses over his neck, under his chin.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry giggles back, pocketing his phone.  “That’s for insurance later on when you decide you don’t want to put out.”

“I never – “

Harry leans back, narrowing his already lidded eyes at Louis and Louis’ mouth snaps shut.  Liam knows there are very few people who can do that to Louis – his parents, their Ninth Year Biology teacher, Liam when he’s right pissed at Louis, and Harry.  But, more than often, it’s Harry.  Yeah, they fit together much better than they should.

“Whatever.  Back to Liam and his lack thereof of a love life,” Louis blurts out, pushing at Harry’s shoulder.  The grin on Harry’s lips refuses to tip away.

Liam tunes them out, decides to let all of their playful fighting turn into white noise.  He chances a glance over his shoulder, watching Zayn stuff his sketchpad into his bag, tossing the strap over his shoulder while gathering the two books at his feet into his arms.  He slips into that fitted leather jacket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from one of the pockets.  He’s sliding into a black beanie while easing a cigarette between his lips like a professional, rolling it with those pink lips while adjusting his bag.

Liam watches him stride out the door, not even bothering to bundle up for that brisk breeze of cold air outside.  He waits a few beats, like always, before gathering up his own books and bag.  He ignores the way Harry and Louis continue to banter like he was never there, trading kisses and sharp words that should be hurtful but never are.  He waits a few more minutes before dragging on his coat and following the same path as Zayn.  He knows to walk a tad slower than he usually would, hugging himself against the stiff wind until Zayn’s just a blur of colors ahead of him.

It all feels… silly.  He knows he’s doing all of this so Zayn doesn’t look back, wonder if Liam’s following him even though he kind of is.  Not that he’s doing it on purpose because they’re headed to the same building, the same class even but maybe Liam doesn’t want that awkward conversation, or stilled silence, he knows they’ll have if he walks with Zayn.  Maybe he likes the scent of nicotine as he trails behind Zayn, those clouds of blue smoke swirling around him and guiding him in the right direction like a compass.  Maybe he likes waiting until Zayn picks a seat in the almost filled lecture hall before sliding into the one just behind him, pretending not to love the way Zayn always smells like a sweet cologne and something orangey beneath the smell of smoke.

And, just maybe, he’s a little more distracted this time while watching the way Zayn takes notes.  Maybe he’s mulling over the idea of actually asking Zayn out this time.  It couldn’t have been all that bad, right?  Zayn could go for a guy like Liam, yeah?  He’s fit, a good listener, usually has something interesting to say.  He’s far more fascinating than his last girlfriend, and the boy whose name Liam might actually be forgetting because of Louis, would have him believe.

He hates how he freezes up when Zayn peeks over his shoulder, offering Liam a small smile that makes his heart thump just a little too loudly against his chest.  He worries his bottom lip when that smile stays a little too long, Zayn shifting in his seat a little with a quirked eyebrow at Liam.  And Liam doesn’t say anything.  His mouth is dry, his head his dizzy, his stomach feels sick, and there’s a throb along his temple.

Zayn gives him a small nod, jerking back around and Liam wants to bury his head in his hands.  He wants to excuse himself from class and hide in the corner of his room until the day feels dull and gone.  He scribbles along the edge of his notebook instead, doing his best to take notes but everything he writes comes out _‘You dumb fuck,’ ‘Loser,’ ‘Pathetic,’ ‘I want Zayn to fall in love with me.’_

**

The rest of Monday feels like a blur, much of Tuesday too.  Liam spends most of it trying to figure out Math equations and he’s quite certain he managed to fail a spontaneous – he doesn’t know why professors feel the need to pretend like these fucking tests weren’t planned out a month before – Global Studies exam, which leaves him in a shitty mood for much of Tuesday morning.

Harry manages to squeeze time in for him between his History and Psyche classes for a bite to eat.

“Honestly, who knew studying to be a lawyer actually meant, y’know, _studying_ ,” Harry complains during quick bites of his Subway sandwich.

Liam nods along with a grin, draining most of his Pepsi while popping a few crisps in his mouth.

“You could always, I don’t know, change majors,” Liam suggests.

Harry balks at him, all wide green eyes while rubbing his fingers over his lips.  “And lose that trust fund my mum guaranteed me when I leave this bloody place?  Liam, you’re daft.”

Liam actually thinks it’s the other way around but Harry busies himself with another conversation about a Women’s Studies course he wants to take and Liam decides now is probably not the time to remind Harry how truly insane he is.

Louis’ particularly jarring that day but he always is after one of his Science courses.

“I swear I’m going to become a school teacher.  A fucking junior school teacher who doesn’t need shit courses like science to teach kids about rocks,” Louis declares, hands cupped tightly around his mug of coffee with an annoyed look dimming those oceanic blue eyes.

Liam doesn’t have the heart to tell Louis that, well, he’s wrong about that.  Yeah, Harry and Louis definitely fit together.

“But you want to be a pediatrician, Lou.  You always said you wanted to take care of children like you took care of your sisters,” Liam informs him, spooning some sugar into the cup of tea he’s made himself.

Louis sighs loudly, caving in on himself on that small bed in Liam’s room.  Louis’ always in Liam’s University hall even though Louis’ is two buildings down and Harry’s is across campus.  Liam thinks it’s almost like home for Louis, the way he would burst into Liam’s room back home and climb into the bed after kicking off his Tom’s, curling around one of Liam’s pillows like it was his own.  He’d bury half of his face into the material while rambling on about how awful the football team is that year, even though Louis had been the captain for the last three years of school.

“I know what I said Liam,” Louis says with a roll of his tongue, cocking his head back.  “This is called _‘venting.’_   Google it.”

Liam doesn’t but he manages to flip Louis off as he passes by the bed to take a seat at his desk, sipping quietly on his tea.  He ignores the rest of Louis’ _‘venting’_ to scroll through his phone, flip through a few pages of that book for Lit class he still hasn’t gotten a grasp on, and thumbing through a few pages of the Superman comic his sister sent to him, along with a few other things from home.  He’ll put off studying for his Behavioral Studies class until later on when he’s wired on Coke and Pixie Stix, trying to give a shit about a course he’s only taking to earn another credit toward graduation.

By Wednesday, he’s slid back into something resembling a normal routine.  He wakes up early to have a run around parts of the campus, earbuds blaring whatever random songs Louis’ downloaded onto his iPod lately – which is a bit more Katy Perry than David Guetta now, but he doesn’t really complain.  He showers off the grime and sweat when he gets back to his hall, truly hating the communal showers they are all forced to use but it’ll be another year until he and Louis have enough quid saved up to get a flat somewhere off campus and, really, it’s the best he’s got right now when it comes to continuous hot water.  He slides a few of his books into his bag, swiping up that Superman comic just in case he finds a little extra downtime between classes before he’s jogging off to his first class.

It’s late afternoon when Liam stops by the small pizza café just off campus that Niall works at.  It’s not a tiny place, about twice the size of the coffee shop but that’s mostly the kitchen and the oversized counter where all the pizzas are on display.  The place is owned by a nice Italian family who employ a few Uni kids to wait on tables and help with the cleanup, but Liam never really sees the older couple who runs the place unless it’s on Sundays when they dine with their children in the middle of the café.

All of the food is authentic, with the kind of pizza that drips thick oil and the taste of the sauce lingers in the back of your throat hours after you’ve had a slice.  The slices are large too, big enough that you really only need one or two before you’re quite pleasantly chuffed and satiated.  Plus there’s handmade pasta dishes, calzones, grilled sandwiches, and a decent Tiramisu that Liam’s had a handful of times.

“Oi, Li Payne, it’s about time.  This lot of Uni punks are driving me mental.  Fancy a beer?” Niall calls out immediately, scooping up slices of pizza onto a metal sheet tray before tossing it into the brick oven behind him.  He dusts off his hands, scrubbing them along his apron before smiling brightly for the pair of dishy Uni girls leaning over the counter winking at him.

He finds is rather amusing that this small Italian café would keep someone as loud and, well, _Irish_ as Niall around.  But maybe it’s the way Niall is most times sunnier than Harry with his endless smile, silver-blue eyes that sparkle like fairy dust, and fluffy bleached blonde hair that girls can hardly resist dragging their fingers through when he says something funny.  He’s impossibly clumsy, his accent a bit too thick when he’s shitfaced to understand, but he’s polite when he needs to be, helpful more often than not, and he’s eager about everything.

Niall fits into their little group better than Harry did at first, not that it was anyone other than Liam and Louis, maybe Eleanor and Greg, before that.  He was all silly grins, dragging one too many heavy bags to his room two doors down from Louis’ on that first day of University, extending an eager hand to Liam and Louis that Liam gladly shook while Louis eyed the kid like he was an alien.  It didn’t take long for Niall to find his place – the willing comic relief to Louis’ complaining, Liam’s sensibleness, and Harry’s, well, _Harry_ -ness – and Louis stopped complaining about needing an interpreter for Niall’s accent after about a week of him slumming it with them.

Liam sidles up to the oversized counter immediately, pulling the hood from his sweatshirt back with a grin while tossing a white paper bag onto the counter near Niall.  He leans over the counter, dusting a few specs of flour from Niall’s cheek before pulling back with a grin that equals the gigantic one pushing over Niall’s face.

“So, no beer?” Niall asks, spinning around to grab two mugs for the Uni girls before waving them off with blush chasing color into his cheeks.  He waggles his eyebrows at Liam, wide blue eyes that are a nice offset to his almost too pale skin.

Liam bites down onto his lip, stiffly shaking his head.  “Root beer?”

Niall nods happily, looking pleased before he’s dragging a hand through his thick hair.  He scurries off, nearly tripping over his feet as he scrambles behind the counter.

“What’s in the bag?” Niall calls over his shoulder, filling a cup to the brim with fizzy root beer before waddling back to Liam.

“A gift from Hazza and the bakery,” Liam tells him, watching the contents of his cup run over the side when Niall drops a plastic straw into it.  It’s typical Niall – always too much but in the best doses.  “He thought you’d like some fresh baked sweets.”

“That Styles, I swear,” Niall whistles out, peeking into the bag with a sideways smirk.  “If it wasn’t for that Lou, I’d swear he was trying to get into my trousers.  Not that I would object to it because, shit, have you seen that guy?”

Liam nearly chokes on his first swallow, eyes impossibly large but Niall’s shrugging him off, peeking into the bag again.

It’s not that Niall hasn’t always been upfront about his non-commitment to things such as sexuality, but more times than not, Liam’s seen him making eyes at some fit girl, a couple of questionable older women that Liam was certain were out of Niall’s league.  And they’ve all pretty much brushed off that one time they caught Niall snogging some chap at the back of a pub, the other guy’s hand halfway down Niall’s pants, because they were all shitfaced that night – all but Liam, of course – and they figured Niall had questionable judgment.  He probably still does, but it’s still a bit shocking whenever Niall talks about things like this.

“Can’t eat ‘em though,” Niall declares, pushing the bag aside.  He flattens his palms on the counter, leaning toward Liam who’s already arching an eyebrow, lips pursing.  “I’m on a diet.”

“Bullshit,” Liam blurts out, hand slapping over his mouth before he finishes the last syllable.

Niall snorts, lips curling into an honest smile.  “I am.  Part of my whole ‘new Niall’ thing I’ve got going on.  I’m a bit behind on that whole New Year’s Resolution thingy.”

_Yeah, like_ eleven _months behind_ , Liam thinks to say but he merely offers Niall a curious expression instead.

“Yeah, no sweets or meats or, you know, unhealthy stuff,” Niall says, waving his hand at Liam like it explains everything else.  He turns to scoop out the slices of pizza, tossing them onto paper plates and trays before letting some charming girl with deep red hair, Jesy, tote them off to the table the Uni girls now occupy in a corner of the café.

“Unhealthy stuff,” Liam repeats, nodding with an unsureness ruling his tone.

“Except beer.  This lad cannot live without it,” Niall declares, thumping a fist onto the counter.

Liam agrees.  He’s seen very few people who can drink as many pints as Niall can in one sitting.  Then again, he’s also seen very few people who can hold a smile for as long as Niall can also, so maybe Louis is right – Niall _is_ an alien.

“How long have you been on this bender?” Liam asks, scraping the pads of his fingers against his shorn hair.

“Six days.”

Liam twitches an eyebrow, a smile pulling his lips sideways.  Niall’s a better liar than Liam, but only slightly.

“Oi, fine.  Three days, give or take a few hours,” Niall admits, flipping Liam off with a bountiful grin scurrying over his lips.

“You are a complete nutter.  I honestly don’t know how any of us put up with you.”

Liam feels the corners of his mouth tug outward, brown eyes littered with stars the moment he spots her.  She’s chunky brown hair with a fedora cocked sideways on her head.  There’s a scattering of tattoos over her arms, glossy lips, and she’s popping cherry bubblegum like its oxygen.  She’s all high top Converse, a curl to her lips when she smiles, cheekiness personified with a petite frame but an attitude that makes her stand taller than anyone in the café.

“Chezza,” Niall drags out, courting his grin when Cher slides behind the counter, nudging her hips against his before offering Liam a petite wave.

“Never can make up your mind, can you Nialler?” Cher wonders, smacking at his hand when he reaches to touch her hip.  “Don’t you dare.”

“Chez,” Niall whines, leaning in but she’s pushing him back playfully before he can smush a kiss to her cheek.

“Not falling for it this time,” Cher says, her voice a warning but she can’t settle that smile on her hips.  She holds up a pointed finger when he leans in again, kneeing his thigh, nearly missing his crotch by an inch.  Liam’s certain that was by accident.

A cackle spills from her lips when he stumbles back, her eyebrow lifting.  “Try harder sunshine.”

She’s patting his face with an open palm, leaving behind small red marks that he grins at but Liam’s almost convinced that wasn’t her intent.  She sticks her tongue out at him before shuffling off, flipping him off when he calls out for her.

Liam gives him a look, studying the way Niall looks a bit resigned but not completely gutted by her reaction.  It’s a tell and Liam’s convinced Niall has never played a hand of poker in his life.

Niall’s lips twitch into a smile when he turns back to Liam, leaning his elbows on the counter before putting his weight on them.  There’s still something unremarkably sunny about his expression, epic eyes like a meteor shower, but something lingers in an offbeat way that has Liam drawing in a little, running his hand over Niall’s shoulder reassuringly.

“You two still dating?” Liam asks though he thinks he probably shouldn’t.  He’s never understood the dynamics of Cher and Niall, very few have, but he’s pretty sure she’s the one thing in life Niall was consistent about.

Niall shrugs, his brow lifting and there’s a cadence to the way he fixes his mouth into a half-smile with his blue eyes tracing over the plethora of pizzas rather than Liam’s face.  He hums lowly to the music that’s barely audible through the overhead speakers of the café – _Another summer day has come and gone away in Paris and Rome. But I wanna go home._ Liam leans with the sway of the music, eyes shifting shut for just a moment because the stroke of the piano feels so familiar.

It’s an early October day, something like a Sunday, he and Niall stretched out on the floor listening to Michael Bublé for hours.  Nothing but a duvet covered them, eyes on the ceiling, and all Liam can hear is that calming voice and Niall’s whispers about Mullingar hidden beneath quiet sniffles.  He remembers tucking an arm around Niall’s shoulders, nodding along because Wolverhampton feels too far away to think about and, differences or not, it’s the first time in too long where he remembers the importance of friendship.

“We sort of do our own thing,” Niall admits, his voice an echo of what it used to be but that smile is still perched on his lips.  He is, if anything, ever defiant of any emotion other than happiness.

“What happened?” Liam asks immediately, a little too curious.

Niall makes a face, creasing his smile just a tad.  “She might’ve seen me kissing that rather fit Uni girl from Louis’ French class the other night.  You know, the one with the nice knockers, always wearing the leggings.”

Liam tries not to wince, schools his disappointment.  It’s not that he expects more from Niall – he’s as committed to a relationship as he is to his sexuality – but he likes Cher.  Honestly, he likes Niall and Cher together, even if they were a bit chaotic like a tsunami.

“It’s not like we made it official or anything.  It was a thing,” Niall says with a shrug, lips cupping that grin.

Liam’s truly starting to hate the casualness of the word _‘thing.’_

Liam bites back his words, holds himself from telling Niall how much he hates the way he knows Niall’s more into the chase than the prize he’s already won when he spots the way Niall’s mouth curves into a smirk, eyes flickering with some sort of elation.  He watches Niall rest his chin on his knuckles, brow lifting, eyes on the door before it swings open.  The cold air dusts into the café and Liam doesn’t give it any regard, clearing his throat to earn Niall’s attention.  It doesn’t work and, fuck, Liam doesn’t know what could possibly be that much more interesting.

“Hey Niall.”

Liam feels his spine stiffen immediately, fingers coiling tight into small fists, eyes going large and his jaw feels a little unhinged.  His breathing is shallow, accelerated for a moment until his head turns a little, Zayn easing up to the counter with him, Josh to Zayn’s right with a solemn look squared on his face.

“Zaynie,” Niall chimes, straightening behind the counter with a lifting grin.

Electric blue eyes run over Josh, taking in the smaller man who’s all muscle and a sweep of brown hair.  Niall’s tongue traces over his lips and, _oh_ , that’s where the distraction lies.

Zayn laughs, full out with his nose wrinkling, eyes crinkling right along the edges and, when he smiles, his tongue presses gently against the back of his teeth.  That scruff along his cheeks, riding the curve of his chin, is light and just a shadow outlining his perfect features.  Those eyes, raw honey, run over everything before long lashes sweep over cheeks and Liam’s breath is stunted when Zayn looks at him, that grin tipping in another direction.

“Hey Liam,” Zayn says, his voice a little rougher but warm and welcoming in the same way it was with Niall.

“Hi,” Liam manages to squeak out, dragging his fingers over the back of his buzzed hair.  He wishes he could dig in, press hard enough that his nails bite against his skin and draw some of the blood from his cheeks.

Zayn snorts, teeth fastening over a corner of his bottom lip, vision sweeping away to look on Niall again.  Liam wonders if that pinkish hue kissing at Zayn’s cheeks is from the cold outside or something else.

“I see you’ve brought along a mate,” Niall says before Zayn can speak again, eyebrows wagging at Josh.  Niall’s shit at flirting and Liam’s still trying to piece together how he managed to pull Cher.  Louis says its “sheer leprechaun luck,” something to which Niall flips him off for each time.

“Niall,” Josh says with a stiff nod, hands fisting into the pockets of his hoodie.

Niall licks out a giant grin, leaning forward again.  “Josh.  Always a pleasure.”

Liam doesn’t miss the way Niall’s tongue brushes over his lips, sinful smile smeared across his lips and he’s doing his best not to wince at the way Niall’s eyes go a bit crazy like he’s trying to be seductive but it’s more painful than arousing.  He chews at his lip instead, amused by the way Josh looks taken aback for a moment before he’s snickering lowly, cheeks pinking.

Josh and Niall fall into their own discussion, something about music or the band Josh plays in, but Liam tries not to engross himself in it.  He takes in the small things like the way Josh keeps smiling, Niall leaning in a little more with almost hushed words.  There’s flour from the pizza dough scattered across Niall’s arms and he keeps dusting at it, wandering eyes taking in every detail of Josh and Josh is toying with one of his many earrings – shifting from his lobe to the cartilage – before they’re laughing together, nodding, and Liam’s sure he and Zayn don’t exist to them anymore.

There’s a patient silence between them.  Zayn’s securing his teeth to his lip, biting lightly while drumming his fingers on the countertop.  Liam feels a bit silly, paying attention to all of the small details: Zayn’s fingers are smudged gray today, probably from charcoal pencils instead of paint.  There’s a rough smudge faded against his chin, most likely from where Zayn rubbed at his face while working on whatever piece of art that Liam muses is probably far more beautiful than it’s warranted to be.  He’s wearing one of those varsity jackets, his name scripted onto the breast and there’s a cigarette tucked behind one of his ears.  He’s a bit fidgety, constantly moving a portion of his body like Liam does when he’s nervous or a bundle of energy he can’t quite release.

Zayn hums lowly, eyes running over the counter.  Liam picks up on it immediately, grinning with his fingers flexing over the counter now, far too close to Zayn’s.  He hums even lower, words just a whisper over his lips – _At night when the stars light up my room. I sit by myself talking to moon. Trying to get to you._

Liam’s cheeks heat up when Zayn looks up through his lashes, biting out a smile while gnawing at his lower lip.  Liam chokes on his own smile, ducking his head a little.  His thumb sweeps over the counter, catching the way Zayn nods along, whispering – _In hopes you’re on the other side, talking to me too_ – while thumping his fingers along to the his lithe voice.

“You like Bruno Mars,” Liam tells him, shoulders going tense when Zayn arches an eyebrow.  He’s holding in a breath, trying to swallow but he can’t.  “I mean, I’ve heard you sing some of his stuff before.  You know, in class.  Or, you know, wherever.”

Zayn nods along slowly but there’s still something distrusting in the way his lips pull downward.

Liam feels stiff, motionless while Zayn eyes him and he wishes there wasn’t such a spotlight on him now.  He wishes there was some piece of this stupid little café where he could hide from those looks Zayn’s giving him because, yeah, he feels like some sort of creeper now.  He feels like an idiot, foolish, and damn Niall for being so caught up in his silly conversation with Josh that he doesn’t notice Liam waving a fucking white flag.

Zayn’s biting gently on one of his knuckles, still tapping his fingers on the countertop.  “Have you started your Lit paper yet?”

Liam exhales softly.  His nerves are still tangled, rattled around all of his thoughts like a chord, but the way Zayn’s features soften, a smile flicking at his lips, eases Liam for a moment.

He shakes his head quickly before laughing nervously.  “Not a single sentence.”

Zayn snorts, nodding.  “I’m halfway there.”

Liam’s eyes go wide, a smile bubbling against his lips.  “Really?”

Zayn nods shyly this time, dropping his chin some and those long lashes sweep over his cheeks, fanning over that cool pinkish shade that seems barely noticeable against that gold skin.

“I could help if, you know, you ever need it,” Zayn offers, fingers pushing through that thick dark hair.  It’s flat today, hanging over Zayn’s forehead and it looks endlessly soft and touchable.  Liam reminds himself repeatedly not to reach out just to feel the texture, curling his fingers around one of the paper menus left on the countertop instead.

Liam nods, incessantly shy about his actions now even though Zayn looks a bit more caged than he feels.  He drifts his eyes away from Zayn because, fuck, looking at him for too long makes Liam feel like he can’t pull up for air.  He watches Cher ease around Niall, narrowing her eyes at the way his smile tilts higher for Josh and they’re avoiding glances with each other.  It’s a clumsy dance, one that they manage through but none of it makes Liam feel uncomfortable.  He’s seen it done better – Louis and Eleanor were certified trophy-winning pros at it.

“I suck when it comes to _King Lear_ ,” Liam blurts out, rubbing at his neck as Zayn lifts his brow, that smile a bit smaller now.

Zayn’s teeth slide over his lip, knuckles rapping on the counter to something old and jazzy – Etta James, maybe.

“We could help each other with it,” Zayn suggests, shifting from foot to foot for a moment.  He’s prickling energy, currents moving the digits of his hand, rocking on his heels, teeth worrying his lip.  It’s almost calming to Liam, knowing Zayn’s just as human as he is.

“I’d like that.”

There’s something settling against Zayn’s lips, the sun breaking after the dawn, and Liam feels warm at the smile Zayn offers him.  It coils itself around Liam, pushes his cheeks high, eyes crinkling when he smiles back.  His words burn against the lining of his stomach, his heart beating percussion-heavy, and he wants there to be more than silence but he can’t properly form his thoughts.  It’s the night falling over the rain-soaked streets of London: just a glittery landscape of sights with hushed sounds.

Liam sips at his root beer, his breathing settling into something normal when Zayn starts to chat about Shakespeare and _the Iliad_ and things Liam should know about but he’s not really that good with things like Literature.  He listens intently though, watching the way that spark in Zayn burns a little brighter.  He catches the way Zayn’s eyes shine brighter, hands moving while he talks, long explanations about things until Liam’s nodding, grinning around his straw.

It’s an eased silence for a long moment, Liam downing half his root beer while Zayn patterns his fingers to the beat of the music.  There are a few short smiles exchanged, natural and a little less tense, though Liam still feels that tight pull at his stomach from the nerves.  He wishes he couldn’t hear the way Niall’s laughing, loud and infectious, to his right or catch the way Josh smiles like the shadow of the sun when the skies start to pink in the evening.  But Zayn’s smile is a little more captivating – chapped lips, shadowy scruff lining his upper lip, white teeth peeking out as a tongue presses at them, with a richness and a softness that Liam’s almost envious of.

The moment feels almost like a blaze of a sticky liqueur over the tongue when Zayn’s fingers brush over Liam’s knuckles, reaching for something – Liam doesn’t know what but he doesn’t think he cares all that much – when Liam looks up into brown eyes flecked with faded gold.  Teeth nimble at the edge of Zayn’s lip, Liam mirroring the action, and he can feel the words finally start to come when Louis’ voice cracks through the air, loud and desperate.

“Oi, Ni, help me out.  I need some nosh and, Christ, is this some sort of gathering of the Justice council?  Where’s Lex what’s his name?” Louis asks, rushing up to the counter with his hair swept back, his nose red, and those wired blue eyes look cracked and worried.

“Legion of Doom,” Zayn mutters softly, shoulders tensing when Liam smiles at him.

“Bro, I’m a wee bit busy, yeah?” Niall hisses, head jerking toward Josh who’s thumbing his jaw, looking away nervously when Louis’ blue eyes center in on him.

Louis scoffs loudly.  “Did he just _bro_ me?” Louis’ looking between Zayn and Liam, something unruly and incredulous sketched into his expression.

Zayn lifts his hands quickly like he’s having no part of this, taking a few steps back with a giggle that tickles Liam’s ears.  Fuck, Louis was incredible at bad timing.

“Look, Ni,” Louis leans far over the counter, his upper lip curling before Niall has a chance to respond, “my boyfriend has a serious case of the munchies, which means he’s gotten a little too friendly with Instagram in the past hour.  He is a hashtag murderer right now.”

Louis jerks his phone from his pocket, waving it around as he thumbs through a long list of photos: a tree, a few bushes, an empty coffee cup, a crowd of Uni students, a few traffic lights, some more trees, Louis’ collection of Tom’s, and more plant life.

Louis sighs helplessly, setting his eyes on Niall again who seems to be backing toward the kitchen in horror.

“I’m trying to remain calm but have you ever tried to have sex with someone who wants to tag your _dick_ on Instagram?” Louis asks a little too loudly, blush riddling Liam’s cheeks when a few of the customers look up.  “And, if you don’t want to be tagged in the next _eighteen_ pics he is no doubt going to post in the next three seconds, I suggest you take my fucking order you little leprechaun.”

Zayn’s still snickering behind a hand while Liam lets his head hang, the biggest part of him wishing he was a little smarter when he was younger and his mum warned him about mates like Louis.

“Right, take care of the bloke before he chases all of the customers away you nut,” Cher insists, shooing Niall back toward the counter with a pad pressed to his chest and a pen shoved between his lips.  She winks at Louis, turning to shove a few more pies into the oven.

Niall exhales a heavy breath when he sidles up to the counter again, scratching at the edges of the pad before looking up at Louis expectantly.

“Give me two large pepperoni pizzas.  Suppose Harry will demolish one by himself,” Louis notes.  Liam nods quickly because, well, Harry will.

“I’ll take a calzone for Li, obviously.  Oh, and a salad because the little fucker wants to stay in shape or something,” Louis adds, scanning his eyes over Zayn and Josh briefly, a smile curling his lips.  “And a cheese pizza for Zayn here.  Liam says you like cheese, right?”

Zayn’s eyes widen before he shoots Liam a wary look, his brow lowering.  Liam wants to crawl under a table or punch Louis.  Punching Louis doesn’t feel like the smartest option, especially since he knows Louis’ buying.

“He also says you draw a pretty sick Batman, not that I care,” Louis adds, waving a hand around while Niall gawks at him, Liam’s face no doubt seven shades of red.  “Also says you have a cute family, not that any of us that follow you on Facebook wouldn’t know that already but, whatever.”

Liam gapes at Louis while Louis eyes him like he’s confused.  He wants to remind Louis that, no, Zayn _didn’t_ know all these things and _fuck you very much_.  That ghostly complexion Liam’s sure he is now is because, for fuck’s sake, he was never planning on telling Zayn these things.  Of course, Louis is school-smart, not common sense-smart.  Liam wonders if Louis might’ve taken a few hits off of Harry’s blunt at some point today.

Josh chokes on a small laugh and Liam wishes he couldn’t see the way Zayn’s eyebrow is arched high, lips pressed together while he rubs aimlessly at his chin, leaving small streaks of gray behind.  His stomach drops, his fingers feel like pins and needles and, yeah, he thinks if dying was an option right now, he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.

“Right,” Louis draws the word out, something finally sinking in.

Liam rubs roughly at the nape of his neck, dragging a foot across the floor while Niall taps his pen repeatedly on the notepad.  He’s half-expecting Harry to waltz in and tell Zayn about how blissful it felt for Liam to come over his fingers while whispering Zayn’s name this morning, but he hasn’t told anyone about that.  It doesn’t halt his cheeks from flushing, his vision a little blurry when Zayn refuses to lift his eyes from Liam.  He can almost see Zayn thinking behind that look and it crackles like the center of a wood-born fire, stripping the oxygen from his chest and leaving him hazy in the fold of his embarrassment.

“I’ll take one with sausage,” Josh finally speaks up and a breath of relief washes over Liam, Niall chuckling low until blush strikes Josh’s cheeks at the realization of what he’s said.

Louis snorts, folding his arms over his chest, brow lifting to offer Liam an apologetic look.  Liam wants to flip him off but merely nods instead, still trying to crawl inside of himself.  He watches it all sort of slide into something a little less tense from there as Niall and Josh slip back into their own private conversation, Zayn managing to weave himself into bits and pieces of it while Louis edges a little closer to Liam, tucking an arm around Liam’s back.

Liam tries not to shift away when Louis leans in, lips to his ear, fingers rubbing gentle circles at the small of Liam’s back like stardust and waves crashing on the shore.

“I take it progress is obsolete today?” Louis wonders, his words just low enough to be a hushed whisper.  Just barely, Liam’s eyes flicking over Zayn – purple haze of a horizon.

Liam shakes his head, jaw tight, his brow furrowing before leaving deep creases in his forehead.

“You could always, you know, _ask him out_ ,” Louis hisses, his voice tight and Liam feels his chest constrict, eyes widening.

“Shut it,” Liam says through gritted teeth, fingers pinching closed into a fist.  Pummeling Louis doesn’t seem like such a bad idea now.  He could forfeit some of us saved up quid to pay the bill, though he knows Niall probably wouldn’t charge him for clocking Louis.

“Oh Zayn,” Louis says in a singsong tone, pulling away from Liam but his fingers remain, prickling against the center of Liam’s back.

Liam tenses immediately, blindly reaching to his side to pinch at Louis’ hip.  Louis’ fairly quick, inching away before Liam can get a proper grip.  And the world blurs when Zayn looks up, Josh’s hand rubbing at his shoulder but Josh is too busy grinning at Niall to catch on to any of it.

“Friday night, we’re headed down to the pier for the only thing this bloody city is good for – their annual fair,” Louis declares, clearing his throat when Liam reaches out for him again, eyes straight ahead and on Zayn.  He swats blindly at Liam, trudging forward with a grin a silhouette of the devil’s.

“Harry and I will be attending and we were thinking of dragging poor Liam along.  Would you like to join us?” Louis offers, too far away for Liam to yank back without it being obvious.  He leans in, deceptively arrogant with his smirk, lashes fluttering like he understands the definition of innocence.  His lips purse for a moment, nudging Zayn’s shoulder with a pointed finger before adding, “Would you like to come _with_ Liam?  Sort of, well, a date, if that’s what you would call it.”

Liam watches Zayn visibly tense up, swallowing slowly.  He’s going to Instagram a picture of Louis lying face down for Harry, no questions asked.

“What would _you_ call it?” Zayn wonders, lips tipping downward.  He’s trading glances between Louis and Liam, Liam chewing down on his bottom lip while Louis’ mouth curls and his eyes glimmer like colorful fireworks against the night’s sky.

“A date,” Louis says before Liam can gather words, nodding when Zayn mouths the word back.  “Definitely a date.”

Zayn sways from foot to foot, fingers dancing over the counter again.  He’s leaving silver streaks behind from the tips, worrying his bottom lip for a moment.  Liam feels the blood drain from his face, wonders how long before he actually decides to just walk out.  His fingers reflexively clench and loosen at his sides, Louis still leaning in and Zayn’s eyes flitter all over the room like he’s thinking.  Like he’s thinking of the best way to let Louis down, to tell Liam he’s just not Zayn’s type.  He’s considering it all, probably trying not to laugh right in Louis’ face because Zayn doesn’t seem like a complete asshole; not like Louis.  He seems kind and quiet and just the kind of guy that would never possibly be interested in anything having to do with…

“Yes.”

If it were a dream, Liam’s certain he would’ve fallen face down on the floor.  It’s not though because he can hear the ringing in his ears, he can feel the blood rush his cheeks, he can feel his fingers biting into the skin of his palm and, fuck, it hurts.  It stings and reminds him that he’s here, now, watching Zayn nod at Louis as Louis’ mouth falls open, eyes wider than a galaxy of planets.  He’s trying to steady his breathing but all of those stupid tricks you hear about on television or read in some silly brochure aren’t working because he’s counting from ten backwards and sideways.  He shoots Zayn a sheepish look, trying to swallow as much oxygen as he can but, yeah, there’s just no way he can school this lightheaded sensation.

“So, um, that’s a yes?” Louis asks slowly like he’s trying to figure it all out himself, his brow lifted high.

Zayn chuckles lowly, nodding again.  “Yeah, man, it’s a yes.”

“Yes,” Louis whispers, mouthing the word over and over like it’s a foreign language.

“Was I not supposed to say yes?” Zayn asks, looking on edge and its razor sharp, the way his fingers drag through his hair.  Those brown eyes circle over Liam and he draws in a sharp breath, digging his fingers in until he thinks he’ll break skin.

Liam can taste the words at the back of his throat, you know the ones you’re supposed to say if you ever understood what the word _courage_ meant.  He figures he should actually probably Google that word later on.

Louis’ speaking up before Liam has to, punching Zayn’s arm with a bite to his smile.  “I’d never speak to you again if you hadn’t.”

“Is that a punishment?”

Louis laughs, loud and uncontrolled.  “I see why Harry likes you.”

Zayn exhales a smile at that, rubbing at his arm before dragging his eyes back to Liam.  “You’re okay with this, right?”

Those words are just on the flat of his tongue now, still forming.

“Of course he is,” Louis announces, waving his hand in front of Zayn until Zayn shifts his eyes away from Liam.

It’s not that Louis always needs the attention centered on himself – Liam’s a shit liar – but maybe Louis knows Liam still can’t figure out how to answer Zayn.  Maybe Louis knows he’s still stuck on the _‘yes’_ because guys like Zayn Malik don’t agree to going on dates with guys like Liam.  Well, double dates because Louis did say he and Harry were going too.  A security blanket, something to keep Liam from looking as silly as he does now.

“Friday night,” Zayn says with a small shrug.

“Friday night,” Louis repeats, thrumming smirk rolling over those pink lips.  “I’ll have Harry text you the time and the place.”

Zayn offers him a diminutive smile, leaning away to look past him toward Liam.  Liam thinks that smile gets a little wider for him, the corners of Zayn’s eyes crinkling, cheeks elevating.  He chews at his own thumbnail to hide his smile but those silly flutters in his stomach make him want to giggle.  It’ stupid, dumb, fucking senseless.

“Can’t wait,” Zayn adds, those words directed at Liam this time.  The skies are gray enough that Liam can’t tell if Zayn’s cheeks color but he takes a deep breath, praying that they do.

“Dress warm,” Liam finally says and what the incredible fuck?  _Dress warm?_

Zayn blinks at him for a moment before nodding slowly, his eyebrow twitching to arch upward.

Louis spins around, gaping at him and he feels like an idiot.  He’s an utter jackass and he wants to bury himself under teen feet of concrete.

“I will,” Zayn says slowly, offering Liam a sheepish grin as he backs away from the counter, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear.  He flips out his lighter, already striking the flame as he moves toward the door.  He chews out a small smile, teeth biting at his lower lip, before adding, “Or you could keep me warm.  You know, if it’s too cold.”

Liam inhales sharply, ignores the shit-eating grin that Louis tosses his way because he’s watching the door as it flaps closed.  He watching the glass, trying to peek through it and find Zayn.  He’s trying to see if that smile stretches goofily against those sharp cheeks like it does against Liam’s rounder cheeks.  He wants to see if those cheeks turn pink like Liam’s or if maybe he’s looking weak and pale like Liam feels.

Louis slaps his shoulder, pursing his lips at Liam before smirking.

“A simple thank you or your firstborn will do,” Louis chimes, reaching up to drag his fingers over Liam’s prickly hair.

“Piss off,” Liam sighs back, smacking Louis’ hand away before turning back to the counter.  Cher’s offering him a considerate smile, refilling his root beer and he still wants to curl inside himself.  She looks almost amused at the way he swallows nearly half of his drink, liquid spilling down the sides of his mouth as he lowers the glass.

He lets Louis cuddle up to him, dropping an arm around Louis’ small shoulders before easing a kiss to Louis’ temple.  It’s never been easy for him to stay mad with Louis, not that he has a reason to.  Louis did what Liam couldn’t, always has.  Liam doesn’t need protecting yet Louis has always felt the need to save him.  He’s always felt the need to stand up for Liam when Liam could do it himself.  He just didn’t, so Louis did.  Since they were children, Louis always has.

Today, he’s okay with that.

**

The fair is a dizzying display of colorful lights, swaying music, cheers and screams, and a thick dusting of holiday decorations from the entrance all the way to the large Ferris wheel toward the back.  It’s a scattering of snowmen, Santa Clauses, reindeer, garland, and fake snow.  There’s a giant slide far to the left, kids shrieking as they ride down on scraps of burlap.  A small roller coaster sits to the right, surrounded by tents of games and one of those bucket rides that spins around until you’re near death – or vomiting, whichever comes first.  The bumper cars are shaped like penguins, flickering lights drawing as much attention as can be to the haunted house – “I don’t see why they call it Helter Skelter.  It looks rather rundown,” Louis says when they pass.  There’s a large carousel in the center of the fair, blaring that hypnotic music that draws all of the children in the fair – most of the adults and Uni students too – toward it with bright lights and reindeer lined up with the plastic horses.  It’s a fairy tale of lights, laughter, enchanting music, and the kind of fun Liam’s certain he hasn’t had since arriving in Chester.

A sharp breeze casts down over his back as he waits on Louis and Harry to finish buying their tokens.  It’s a little after seven but the sky has already rolled into a fierce purple haze, the sun fading off like the cherry of a burnt out cigarette while a scattering of dots start to form stars in the sky.  It’s the coldest it’s been since late October but Liam doesn’t seem to mind, tipping his head back to catch some of the breeze as it curls over his cheeks, shifts through his buzzed hair.

“Twenty fucking quid and all I get is a few mere tokens?  This place is crap like this shit town,” Louis moans loudly as he and Harry walk up.

“Oh, come on Lou,” Harry smiles out, slinging an arm around Louis’ shoulders while drawing him closer.  “This place is magical.”

Louis pulls back a little, wrinkling his brow.  “How many joints did you smoke today?”

“Two,” Harry says with a half-snort, half-giggle.  “Maybe another half of one with that kid Aiden from down the hall after I crammed for my French exam.”

Louis rolls his eyes while Liam bites back a laugh.  Harry’s always a spot of brilliant light in Louis’ rolling clouds of anguish but the weed makes Harry somehow brighter.  It’s intolerable some days, mainly for Louis, but Liam’s sort of in love with it.  He’s all glass half-full, greener on the other side, rainbows and fucking sunshine in a shit storm.  Even in this cold, with his cheeks red and his nose pink, he’s an eye-catching smile with defined dimples and curls swept over his forehead.

“Whatever,” Louis huffs out, pulling his bomber jacket closer to his chest.  He tosses his head to the side to knock the fringe of his eyes before he’s rubbing his glove-covered hands together, fussing with his jumper that’s got odd designs on it like almost every other Uni guy’s Christmas sweater.

“Play nice and I’ll suck your cock later,” Harry bargains and Liam feels his stomach flip into a handstand, balking when Harry leans in to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek, nuzzling his nose against it.  Did Liam mention how insanely affectionate Harry is after he smokes?  Sickeningly so.

“Fucking tease,” Louis laughs out but Liam knows the pink in his cheeks is less from the cold and more from the way Harry keeps peppering kisses against them.  “Where’s Zayn?”

“He text me and said he was close.  Probably getting tokens,” Harry says, adjusting the scarf hung loosely around his neck.

Liam doesn’t really understand how Harry goes so easily from prep kid with his curls neatly in place and swept across his forehead, Ralph Lauren gloves, tight maroon trousers, thin white cardigan, and lengthy pea coat to the stoner boy who wears fedoras, messy curls, even tighter jeans, and grungy band t-shirts in the beginning of December with that lingering scent of weed and sweets like some half-baked California local.  Yet Harry does it with a charm and cheekiness that even Louis doesn’t question.  Liam wonders if maybe Harry’s the reason Liam sometimes catches Louis slumming around campus in sweats with a beanie and Ocean Avenue shirts on.

“Your boyfriend’s late, Li.  That’s not a good sign,” Louis says, cocking a disapproving eyebrow up at Liam.

“Lou, you’re late to your morning class four days out of the week,” Liam says back, arms folding over his chest.  “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“ _Yet_ ,” Harry slides in with a low chuckle, ever the optimist.

Louis nods along happily because, obviously, they think with one mind.

Liam pulls his own coat closed, feeling silly in it because it’s that fancy one his mum bought him last Christmas that he never wears because it’s a lot more posh than anything else he owns.  He scuffs his Converse on the small patch of grass near his feet, toying with the ends of the scarf his sisters bought him to go along with the coat and he doesn’t know why he’s wearing any of it except Louis made him put it on after changing his outfit _four_ times until Louis agreed – well, _gave up_ because Liam didn’t own anything tight or upscale enough for Louis’ tastes – to let him wear his blue baseball shirt with a pair of light chinos.

“There he is,” Harry says with a dimple-inducing grin, jerking his head to Liam’s right.

Liam’s teeth bare down on his bottom lip, the music blaring through the speakers that were set high on all of the poles around the fair, a distant orchestra of swirling bass when he spots Zayn – _A million hearts, you’re the only one who lights it up like I’m glowing in the dark._ He’s moving through small families, dodging groups of Uni students, easing around a rather large man biting into a tall cone of colorful cotton candy with a slick grin spreading over his lips.  His hair is tall tonight, an unmovable quiff under the dancing lights of the fair ground.  Liam can spot the plaid button up beneath the rich vanilla trench coat, jeans hanging loose over a pair of burgundy high top trainers.  He strides with an easiness that Liam doesn’t think he can be duplicate.

The closer he gets, the softer his face looks.  It’s stripped over all of the scruff tonight, a youthful portrait of unmarred beauty.  His smile pushes at his cheeks, sets crinkles right around the edges of his eyes, and that tongue is pressing against his teeth again.  He’s shed that untouchable glow that Liam thinks he was born with.  Those brown eyes, faded spots of green in them tonight, are lit like fireflies – _This is my confessional. Seven seconds before I hit the ground but you saved my life._   The wind casts a stiff breeze against them but Zayn moves through it with an ease, his grin immoveable.

Harry’s punching Zayn’s shoulder lightly when he finally eases up to them, Louis offering a clipped smile that could be considered friendly for Louis.  Liam runs his teeth over his bottom lip, a small wave that Zayn nods at.  His nose wrinkles a little when he smiles at Liam and Liam’s inhaling deeply, reminding himself that Zayn was here for him, right? – _Now I feel indestructible._

“Sorry, I didn’t know twenty pound would get so few tokens,” Zayn says, smiling sheepishly at them.

Louis immediately shoots Liam a look that says _‘I told you so’_ before Zayn’s adding, “So I went back to get some more.  Wanted to make sure I had enough for us.”  He’s looking at Liam now, holding out his hands which are gripping small piles of tokens.

Liam feels the fever rush his cheeks, the tops of his ears before he’s jiggling his pockets, ensuring Zayn knows that he’s spent most of the money his parents sent him for more school supplies on the same thing.  It’s a little embarrassing, the way they trade looks like school kids who are happy they’ve found someone to eat with at lunch, but the way Zayn’s grin scrunches his nose and nearly splits his face in half comforts Liam in the oddest way.

He can feel Louis’ eyes on them for a moment, studying them in that protective brotherly way Louis regards anyone who shows interest in Liam with.  He wonders if maybe he’s getting a contact high from Harry because when has Zayn ever been interested in him?  He rubs at the top of his head, thoughts melted away when Zayn eases in closer, stands next to Liam rather than in front of him.

“Come on chaps,” Louis says, that thick grin pronounced in his tone.  He nods at Liam, snorting at the way Liam’s shoulders tense, lips forming a small ‘O’ when Zayn nudges his shoulder.  “Let’s see what Chester has to offer with this Winter Wonderland, shall we?”

Harry nods happily, sliding his arm around Louis’ waist while Zayn pockets his tokens.   Louis offers Liam a small shrug when Zayn dips in closer.  Liam swallows, feels the soft fabric of Zayn’s glove when his hand brushes the back of Liam’s as they begin to follow Louis and Harry.  He pretends it doesn’t happen but then Zayn’s hand runs over his again, fingers almost linking with Liam’s.  He’s watching Liam from the corner of his eye, his smile tipping higher when blush settles into Liam’s cheeks.  Liam feels clumsy, drawn into the high and he doesn’t know why but he walks a little closer to Zayn, letting his own bare fingers tiptoe over the back of Zayn’s hand, moving to the inside of his wrist where it’s warm.  Zayn doesn’t step away and the breeze swipes over them, cooling Liam’s own skin.

They move around the fair slowly, taking in the sights, Harry capturing pics of the rides and a few kids on his phone.  Louis makes fun of him, teasingly shoving Harry away when he leans in to press a kiss to Louis’ temple.  Liam wonders what the hashtags will say this time, how many of the photos will be tagged with Louis’ name before they move over to the giant slide.

Liam’s wide eyes and a cheek-aching grin when he reaches the bottom first, Louis not far behind with Harry screaming like he’s on a drop to his death with a wicked smile on his lips.  Zayn’s a little more reserved when he reaches the bottom, though his cheeks are flushed and there’s a never-ending smile on his lips when he finally stands.  He’s ducking his head when Liam grins back at him, playfully shoving at Liam’s shoulder until Liam looks away with a laugh.

The music overheard clatters over the children cheering, the wild laughter from Uni girls and the drunken salute from some of the Uni lads who are sipping on flat beer while playing a few of the fair games – _I used to be a beggar. A beggar for your love. Til you used and abandoned me._   Harry swings an arm around Louis’ shoulders, Louis eases his own arm around Harry’s waist while resting his head on Harry’s offered shoulder.  Zayn keeps close to Liam, drawing in when the wind pushes stiff against their backs.  Liam can’t fight with his grin, cold fingertips pushing at the pulse on Zayn’s wrist until he’s shivering away with a laugh.

They move dizzyingly around the crowds, laughing as Harry takes snaps of Father Christmas – “Jolly St. Nick and all of his glory,” Harry sings out while Louis barks out a laugh.  The pulse from the lights, the spinning rides, the electricity of the cold that drenches him in an almost numb feeling from his toes to his fingertips drags on his smile.  Zayn’s laughing at the kids stumbling off rides, pulling at Liam’s hand until they’re tripping toward another ride, watching girls plead for their lives as it drops from the sky.  Their fingers remain linked for a moment, Zayn nearly doubling over with giggles while Harry clicks a few more pics of some poor girl bent over a bin, dry-heaving into it with her hair sticking up high – _Remember that I’m the one you blamed for everything that makes you weak._

Louis drags them through a small shop littered with candies, sweets, colorful pieces of gummies and lollipops.  Liam’s looking over the gingerbread houses, the miniature Santa Clauses while Harry eyes the lollipops like they’re small pieces of treasure.  Zayn’s filling a bag with sweets, tossing candies at Liam until he’s stumbling over to Zayn with a snort, hooking their arms as they move through the shop.  Louis’ bag is stuffed with toffee, peppermints, salty and sour treats while stuffing his mouth with gummy bears.  Harry’s sucking on a long lollipop that’s shaped a little too much like a candied cock for Liam’s tastes while Zayn snickers into his hand, his head lolling to the side and resting on Liam’s shoulder.  Instinct stops him before rationale thought works through his brain, his arm slipping around Zayn’s back until his fingers curl around Zayn’s hip.  Zayn remains, sighing softly with his teeth biting down on his lower lip and Liam doesn’t say anything about it.  He watches Louis and Harry fight over a piece of bubble gum until they’re all nearly getting kicked out, Liam’s arm still around Zayn’s back with Zayn’s head snuggling a little closer to his shoulder.

The embers from the lights overhead glow just a little brighter when the skies darken.  Louis’ scoffing at kids making out toward the back of a few rides, Harry dancing around happily like a child at the North Pole.  Zayn’s laughing into Liam’s shoulder when Harry struggles to give Louis a piggyback ride toward the bumper cars.  Liam’s caught off guard when Zayn feeds him a piece of caramel candy when they’re in the queue, wishing those gloves were off so he could taste the edges of Zayn’s fingertips.  He spots the way Louis leers at them while Zayn smiles brightly, dragging his thumb over Liam’s bottom lip while Liam licks away at the candy.  They don’t say anything, haven’t really since they started their hike through the fair but it feels like their eyes have said enough.

“Fucking disgusting,” Louis whispers loudly enough that Liam pulls back, rubbing at the nape of his neck while Zayn snickers.

“Lou,” Harry whines, dragging him further into the queue while Liam sighs restlessly, the corners of his mouth pulling up when Zayn bumps their shoulders.  He pulls at the collar of Zayn’s jacket and they’re falling right behind Harry and Louis, inching close enough that the next breeze of the night’s air doesn’t feel as bad as the last.

Louis drags Harry off to the Helter Skelter attraction – Liam knows it’s just a lazy excuse for the two of them to make out – while he leads Zayn toward one of the lifting rides that spins wildly in the air over the fair, queuing up before asking Zayn.  He catches the hesitance when Zayn lines up behind him, the way his shoulders go tense, his bottom lip poking out while his fingers stiffen at his side.  There’s a flicker of something – _fear?_ – settling over those brown eyes and Liam feels a sudden need to drag Zayn away, huddle him into a corner to hold him and make Zayn tell him all of his secrets.  He pokes at Zayn’s side with a stiff finger instead, running questioning eyes over Zayn’s face.

“We can go back to the bumper cars,” Liam offers when Zayn doesn’t speak, his eyes averting Liam’s gaze.

“No,” Zayn says briskly.  It’s not very convincing but Liam doesn’t press.

“Or we could go grab a bite to eat.  I heard they have some pretty decent chips here,” Liam suggests, teetering on the heels of his Converse while trying not to stare at Zayn.  He runs his cold fingers over his even colder nose, sniffing while Zayn shakes his head.

“I’m fine.”

A frown pulls at Liam’s lips and he suddenly wishes he would just shut the fuck up.  If Zayn didn’t want to talk about it, fine.  They didn’t have to except Liam’s not very good at just letting things go, no matter how stubborn someone is being.  He sort of blames that on Louis or maybe his mum’s constant need to be so supportive of the world even when the world was being a complete dick.  Like Zayn was with his set eyebrows, teeth biting incessantly at his bottom lip, and narrowed eyes like he’s trying to prove something.

That exterior cracks when there’s a round of shrieks from a few of the girls, some of the guys too, already on the ride.  Zayn trembles, looking up for a moment before quickly dropping his eyes, scuffing the toe of his trainers on the gravel beneath them.  He’s muttering under his breath, a scowl inching over his face and Liam draws back for the first time in an hour, fingers pulling at his scarf rather than finding little pieces of skin on Zayn he hasn’t touched yet.

“Zayn, we don’t have to – “

“I’m not scared,” Zayn says stiffly, lifting his chin.

Liam nods slowly, toying with the buttons on his coat.  He thinks to ask for an explanation but Zayn doesn’t look like he wants to offer one so he looks around the fair instead, tries to spot Harry and Louis.  He wonders how long before they’re kicked out of the fair for indecent exposure or for Harry sparking up with a few of the other stoner kids.

“If it’s not what you want to do, I understand,” Liam says as they inch closer to the front of the ride, chewing the inside of his lip.  He tries not to look at Zayn, does his best to make this all feel unimportant but he sort of wants to get on the ride and fuck Niall for having to work because he knows Niall would be the first to drag Liam to the front of this damn queue to get on.

“I’m not a punk or anything.  My lads back home will attest to that,” Zayn says immediately, his face scrunched like he’s attempting to prove his manliness.  Liam thinks it’s a bit rehearsed but he smiles anyway, nodding.

“I just don’t like heights, that’s all,” Zayn adds lowly, his voice a stretch of vulnerability that claws at Liam’s heart.

“I don’t like water rides,” Liam admits, a smile sliding over his lips when Zayn looks up through his lashes.  “I can swim just fine but I don’t like the idea of water and mechanical things.  I’m afraid that damn safety belt will get stuck and I’ll be trapped under water.”

Zayn bites on his lips with a grin, stepping in closer as they move up in the queue.  Liam takes a small step back until they’re shoulder to shoulder again, his thumb unconsciously sweeping over Zayn’s knuckles, fingertips clingy to the scratchy material of Zayn’s gloves.

“I can’t swim.”

“I can’t draw.”

Zayn snorts at that, ducking his head before resting it against Liam’s shoulder for a laugh.  Liam clutches onto his own grin, feeling the vibration from Zayn’s laugh.

“I don’t like stalk you on Facebook or anything,” Liam says suddenly, his voice pinched and awkward.  He feels small when Zayn lifts his head, watches the other boy brush his lips with his tongue, his eyebrow arched at Liam.  “You just, I don’t know, interest me, that’s all.  I just… notice things, I guess.  Fuck, that sounds cheesy, yeah?”

Zayn’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, laughing at Liam for a moment.  “It really doesn’t, mate.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes out, a small chuckle clinging to the word.  He bumps his shoulder against Liam’s, his nose scrunching with another laugh when Liam’s brow raises.

“I just didn’t want you to think – “

“I didn’t,” Zayn says assuredly.  There’s a seriousness to his tone now, his features softening.  A haloed honesty slinks through his eyes and Liam nods at him, feels some sense of confidence returning when Zayn’s fingers run over his palm.

“I could hold your hand, if you’d like, while we’re on the ride,” Liam offers, turning his palm face up.  He holds onto a breath, waits for Zayn to finish examining his hand before he feels fingertips dance over it.

“You would?” Zayn asks, those fingers sliding between Liam’s until they fit together.  “I’d like that.”

Liam nods, grinning openly.

He tightens his fingers around Zayn’s, tossing a few tokens at the man operating the ride before moving toward the empty metal box the man jerks his head toward.  He feels Zayn’s tension, the way he keeps biting at his lip until it’s almost raw with his leg jiggling.  He’s looking around with jerky movements, stiffening when the man latches them into their harnesses and Liam squeezes Zayn’s hand until he’s looking at Liam.  His breathing is a little uneven, drops of sweating breaking against his forehead but his eyes stay focused on Liam’s.  His fingers bite into the back of Liam’s hand but Liam doesn’t let go.  He merely nods slowly at Zayn until his breathing evens out and they’re smiling at each other.  His heart ticks loud, dulling all of the noise around them but he keeps a firm grip on Zayn’s hand the whole time, holding him in place while Liam feels dizzy with bliss.

They’re laughing, crackles of a burnt high from the ride, stumbling out of the gate and into each other.  Liam’s fingers are a little looser in Zayn’s but he can still feel the warmth through Zayn’s gloves, the way it coils up his spine like a washed out inferno.  Zayn’s nose, cold and red, is against the stretch of his neck that isn’t hidden by his scarf and his other hand is finding its way into Zayn’s hair briefly.  It’s soft and stiff at once, far too much product like he’s trying to impress someone with its height, its neatness.  Like, maybe, he’s trying to impress Liam and that draws up a crinkled smile that bunches up Liam’s cheeks and hides the browns from his eyes.

“Thank you,” Zayn whispers when their laughter starts to dwindle, leaning up just slightly and there’s a soft kiss pressed to the corner of Liam’s mouth.

Liam’s breath hitches but his hand steadies on the small of Zayn’s back, holding him in place so he doesn’t tip over.  Those lips are cold, chapped, not nearly as memorable as he wants them to be but maybe it’s because that small peck is just that – _small_.  Maybe it’s because there’s a flash of light, Harry’s fucking phone, and Zayn’s jerking back quickly, looking embarrassed and confused before Harry’s laughing loudly.

“Saving that one for a merry fucking Christmas update,” Harry grins out, Louis shaking his head disapprovingly at Harry before offering Liam an apologetic smile.

Liam would prefer Zayn’s lips against his skin instead but he settles for what Louis has to offer, nodding stiffly at him as Zayn eases away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“Games?” Louis suggests, a question in the way he says it.

Harry nods with that ridiculous grin, wincing when Louis tangles his fingers into those soft curls.  He elbows Louis away but not before patting at Louis’ bum, pushing out a smile that Louis chooses not to ignore.  They’re kids on the playground, sharing kisses underneath the jungle gym without even knowing the impact of it all.

Liam doesn’t ignore the way Zayn hooks their arms together when Harry and Louis walk off, leading Liam behind them with a grin.  He watches the way Zayn’s smile refuses to fade, a sun dancing over the waves of the ocean far past its expiration date, the way Zayn toys with the sleeve of his coat and chats mindlessly about _the Lord of the Rings_ , hating his Chemistry class, eyeing fluffs of cotton candy with wide, childlike eyes.  They dust up their trainers through the gravel, over the dirt toward the tents and Liam refuses to let his stomach fizzle like the stars blinking through the rolling purple clouds above.

Harry wins Louis a large reindeer, dressed in an absurd Christmas jumper that looks almost half of Louis size while playing a game of hoops.  Louis tries to win Harry a small stuffed turtle while playing darts – he’s not nearly as good as Niall but, then again, Louis only plays when he’s pissed on lager – and swears the game is rigged when he loses every single time.  Harry laughs into his hair, kissing the top of Louis’ head while dragging them away before they really do get thrown out of the fair.

They shoot at ducks with fake shotguns, take a hand at trying to knock over a pyramid of cans – “Fucking hell.  Those things are made out of _rocks_ ,” Louis complains after his fifth try – and Harry and Zayn compete vigorously at another game of Snow Ball while Louis eats kettle corn and Liam sips at a Coke.  They lose miserably to some kid who’s half Harry’s size, missing his two front teeth and jumping around triumphantly while Harry sulks against Louis and Zayn steals sips of Liam’s Coke.

“Wanker,” Harry mumbles, chewing on a smile directed at Zayn.

Zayn shrugs, laughing full on while leaning on Liam’s shoulder.  A pool of warmth settles into Liam’s stomach and he refuses to shove Zayn away, curling closer.

“You suck,” Zayn spits out with a barking laugh.

“Oh, he’s quite amazing at it, actually.  You should see the way he – “

Liam clears his throat loudly before Louis can finish, a scarlet shade drumming over Harry’s cheeks while Louis grins gleefully.  Zayn merely laughs lowly, resting a hand on the small of Liam’s back like some form of gratitude.  It does little to settle Liam’s thoughts about seeing if maybe Zayn could show Harry up in other areas other than fair games.

Louis spends far too long trying to figure out the mysteries of the ring toss – “Bloody hell, they’ve got magnets or something on them, don’t they?  Is there some sort of invisible wire?  Do you work for the Illuminati?” – while Harry and Zayn fight to beat each other.  Liam stands back, giggling into his scarf as Louis climbs onto the counter despite the protests of some of the patrons, ignoring them all to try and land on a ring on the neck of one of the green bottles that are far too far away for his short arms to reach.  He nearly falls behind the counter, Harry holding the hem of his bomber jacket while still trying to outdo Zayn.

He chews at his bottom lip, eyeing Zayn as he tosses a few rings carelessly, knocking Harry back when he tries to reach past Zayn to hit the bottles on the front row.  They fight playfully over a new set of rings, elbowing Louis back as they try to reach the back row.  Every ring bounces off the lid of a bottle, clanking on the floor until there’s only a few left in Zayn’s hand.  Liam reaches out, a boldness thrumming against his chest, to scoop the rings out of Zayn’s hand and he takes a few tosses before putting forth a conscious effort.  He narrows his eyes, flicking his wrist with enough force that he almost catches a few of the bottles, Zayn cheering stupidly behind him while his fingers dig into the material of Liam’s coat.  The last ring clinks around one of the glasses, spinning wildly before latching around the neck and sinking downward.

“Winner!”

“Bull- _fucking_ -shit,” Louis groans, shoving Liam roughly.

“Fucking sport,” Harry says, his voice devoid of anger or disdain for Liam.  He offers Liam a tipped up grin, curling his arms around Louis to comfort him.

Liam smiles softly, barring down on his bottom lip as the man running the booth passes him a fluffy white teddy bear that’s larger than Louis’ silly reindeer, a floppy Santa hat covering one of its ears and a red bow tied around its neck.  He clings to it for a moment before turning, offering Zayn a genuine smile while shoving it at him.

Zayn looks taken aback, hesitantly reaching out for the bear before yanking it into his chest, cuddling close to it like a child on Christmas.  He buries his nose in the soft white material, looking up at Liam through his lashes and Liam can almost see the smile brimming on his lips, small and giggly.  It shifts a sweet pink over his cheeks, his foot dragging shyly over the ground as Harry whistles behind them, Louis muttering something about stupid jocks and their dopey boyfriends.  Liam doesn’t miss the way blush accents Zayn’s cheeks and he’s rubbing at the back of his neck, trying to shield the smile he’s holding just for Zayn.

They pose for a picture when they spot Cher, Harry making promises of tagging her once he uploads the pic and she’s waving him off with a laugh, winking at Liam as she passes with Jade and Leigh-Anne.  Louis drags them onto the carousel, not that any of them are complaining because, come on, who doesn’t love that silly thing?  Harry and Zayn pretend to be cowboys, Louis throwing his arms wide like he’s fucking Rose on the Titanic while Liam leans back on his horse, watching Zayn.  He’s devoid of inhibition, sort of the way Liam is when he’s pleasantly drunk on rum and banana schnapps, with an intoxicating laugh that’s high-pitched and almost girly.  And he can’t stop teasing Harry, tugging at his curls while Harry playfully punches at his shoulder.  He gets on with Louis like they’ve known each other as long as Liam and Louis have, laughing at the kids dancing around on their horses and reindeer, eyes crinkled up while watching a few guys trying to chat up some Uni girls and bombing miserably.

He watches the way Zayn clutches onto that silly bear like a safety blanket, shouldering up to Liam while they walk before starting a spirited row with Louis about what ride to get on next.  Harry sidles up to Liam, whispering things about needing more sweets, coming down from his high as his voice slides into that decidedly serious tone when he tells Liam how much he likes Zayn, how he thinks maybe he’s the sort of guy Liam should like too.  Liam shoves him away with a small smile, looking away because, yeah, Liam agrees.

They end up playing a few more games, Louis forfeiting immediately to grab a basket of chips and a beer while Harry lingers off to the side, rubbing at his lips while no doubt updating his Instagram with that pic he just took of the carousel’s lights.  Zayn pulls him in the direction of that obnoxiously loud game where you shoot at a stupid target with a water gun while racing the other players.  He reluctantly tosses the girl running the booth a few tokens and she looks as amused as someone who’s just found out they’re dying with her snapping bubblegum, smeared lipstick, cocked up ponytail and a hand on her jutting hip.

“Maybe I can win you something?” Zayn offers, biting at his lip while stroking that damn bear.

Liam nods with a grin because Zayn looks so content, happy even that he can’t help but want to intensify that feeling for Zayn.

Zayn seems eager and it sparks against Liam like a wildfire, both leaning in with rounded shoulders and squinted eyes at the target.  It feels a bit silly because they’re competing against a ten year old girl, some elderly couple, and a rather large man who takes up two seats with all of the little prizes he’s already won.  But when the girl clicks the buzzer, everything lighting up, they go at it like the prize is a week off from classes.  Liam doesn’t expect Zayn to completely muck up the game by holding his gun the wrong way, squirting himself in the face until he’s choking on the water, his quiff falling a little while Louis and Harry laugh loudly behind them.

Liam holds back a snort, dropping his gun and forgetting the game to pull his scarf from around his neck and shoulders.  He gently dabs the water from Zayn’s face, taking in the frown on his lips, the way his eyes droop a little in disappointment.  He chews on his lip, head shaking while Zayn tosses his gun down, trying not to remove that resigned look from his face.  It’s adorable in ways Liam thinks is stupid and daft because why the fuck was he thinking anything about Zayn was adorable?  He’s not thirteen, going through puberty, and doing his best to imitate Justin fucking Timberlake to impress a girl.

Still, Zayn is sort of cute about it all, snatching away Liam’s scarf and wrapping it around his own neck while clinging to that silly teddy bear.  Liam doesn’t fight him on it, leaning forward to tap the end of Zayn’s nose before pressing a kiss to Zayn’s forehead.  He hears Zayn’s breath hitch, jerking back immediately.  His cheeks flush, Zayn’s eyes going wide, and they look lost for a beat before Louis’ rambling on about wanting to ride the Ferris wheel and needing more beer.  Liam chews on his thumbnail, blinking at Zayn before Zayn’s offering him a small smile, shrugging as if it meant nothing.

Maybe it really didn’t but Zayn links their fingers again as they follow behind Harry and Louis, the stars swirling above like strokes from a paintbrush – _It’s where I’m coming from. It’s where you’re going. In a dark tunnel, blindfolded._

They stay close, Zayn half-hugging that stuffed bear while Liam takes in the sights in the peak of the night.  He watches the sleepy kids chasing each other, the parents worn down but still kicking at their high from the giggling like the sweet juices of wine are sliding through their blood streams.  He doesn’t shy away from Zayn when Cher points at them, punch drunk on beer and probably a few shots of whatever Leigh-Anne’s carrying around in that metal flask she keeps tucking back into her purse.  His tongue slips over his lips when Zayn giggles at Harry and Louis, the way they stumble along like they have no idea where they’re going but they’re willing to walk this path as long as it’s with each other.

“They’re sort of in love, yeah?” Zayn asks lowly, chuckling.

“Madly,” Liam says back, nudging Zayn’s shoulder until that laughter tips an interval higher, Liam swallowing down his own snickers.

“Think they’ve sorted that out?”

Liam nods slowly, taking in the way Harry gentles another kiss to Louis’ forehead like he might slip too far away.  Louis never does and it bites at Liam’s senses.  He’s never known that feeling; probably never will.

“A long time ago,” Liam finally says, biting hard on his lower lip when Zayn squeezes his fingers.  They’re warm against the material of Zayn’s gloves, his heart drumming a little too loudly – _And I follow your steps into the future like I know what’s coming._

Zayn’s tense once more when they get into the bucket of the Ferris wheel, fingers clutching at the metal bar over their laps while looking over every few seconds to see if they’re really that high up.  He does it routinely, never looking for too long but his face goes pale and his eyes are wide by the time he finally leans back, trying to look comfortable but failing at it.

Liam leans back, taking in the colors of the night, the streaks of lights from the fair, the way Zayn looks small and scared without trying to.  He draws his eyes over Zayn’s jaw, the sharpness, the pout on his lips – _I follow you like a stray and your back says, ‘I’m looking.’_ His hair isn’t standing tall anymore, still a little damp from the water, and it curls in the front.  Liam reflexively edges his arm around Zayn’s shoulders, letting it rest there rather than pulling Zayn closer.  He smiles when Zayn seems to settle, his leg still jumping but his fingers stop gripping the bar so tightly.

“You look like Clark Kent,” Liam blurts out, cursing himself when Zayn peeks at him.  He feels like an idiot because Zayn doesn’t really look all that much like Superman but it comes out and he can’t stop himself.  “I mean, with the jaw and the…”

“Kyle Rayner,” Zayn cuts in, his mouth pushing sideways against his face with a grin.  “I wanted to be a Green Lantern.  Thought about getting a tattoo right on my spine like that one time Kyle Rayner shot Sinestro with all of those arrows in – “

“That issue of _Rebirth_ ,” Liam mutters, rubbing shyly at the nape of his neck when Zayn’s grin pushes his cheeks higher.  He feels silly, embarrassed but Zayn’s smile is bright, lighting up half the sky – _I’m walking in your footsteps. Turning your dust into diamonds._

They fall into a rhythm after that.  Zayn leans in close, his scent hovering and it’s nothing but cologne, that sweet orange-y smell just beneath that last cigarette Zayn had between the games and the carousel.  Liam tightens his arm around Zayn’s shoulders while they chat about their plans after University – “My dad wants me to go into sports medicine.  They have a really good school in the States, in Texas, I think.” “But what do _you_ want to do?” “I want to work with kids.  Coach, I suppose.”  Liam listens to stories about Zayn’s family, his intentions to move back to Bradford if given the chance.  Liam nods along, thinks he wouldn’t mind moving back to Wolverhampton.  He tries not to entertain the thought of following Zayn to Bradford, maybe settling into a nice teaching job there while visiting Zayn on the weekends as he paints and recites poetry to Liam over tea.

“Yeah, like that one tune by Kanye West,” Liam laughs out when they’re stuck somewhere in the sky, the bucket tipping forward and back.

Zayn looks a bit restless, gnawing at his bottom lip but there’s a smirk pushing at the corners of his mouth, nodding along with Liam.

“I used to play that tune all the time back home when I DJ’ed at me mates’ parties,” Zayn grins out.

Liam smiles back, carelessly dropping a hand on Zayn’s knee that remains until Zayn eases out of that tense posture he’s been huddled in since the cart stopped moving.  He rubs his thumb up Zayn’s thigh, laughing together through discussions about music.  Zayn doesn’t make fun of Liam when Liam doesn’t know half the artists Zayn talks about.  He stares at Liam in awe, gold-freckled eyes lidded by his lashes when Liam rattles off the bands he likes, most of them ones that Zayn knows and listens to between classes.

“Miguel,” Zayn says, smirking.

“And Jessie J.”

“Yeah, definitely.  A little Ed Sheeran too,” Zayn adds and Liam’s nodding quickly, biting at his lip.

“Classic Michael,” Liam whispers with a short giggle, fingers curling around Zayn’s shoulder.

“’Smooth Criminal’?” Zayn asks, adolescent innocence brushed through his eyes.

“’Dirty Diana.’” Liam tries to hold back his smirk, the intent one that’s almost sinful in the way it glides over his lips.  Zayn’s staring at it while running his tongue over his own lips like they’re sharing the same thoughts, fingers finding gentle curves of each other’s bodies to press at for just a second.

“No Coldplay,” Zayn vows, cocking an eyebrow at Liam like he’s waiting for Liam to argue with him.

“No Coldplay,” Liam says in some weird form of solidarity and they’re laughing again, Zayn’s nose wrinkling while the corners of Liam’s eyes crinkle.

“But everyone sort of likes ‘Fix You,’” Zayn whispers, nudging Liam with his shoulder.

Liam leans in closer, nodding with his lip caught between his teeth.  “’The Scientist.’”

Zayn snorts, blinking at Liam.  “You’re mental.”

“You don’t like it?”

Zayn ducks his head, scratching at the nape of his neck with blush waxing his sculpted cheeks before softly replying, “It’s my favorite.”

Zayn laughs at the things Liam tells him about Niall, Louis, and Harry.  Liam listens closely when Zayn talks about Josh, pretends not to take notes that he might run back and tell Niall about.  They whisper to each other when discussing small things like past relationships – Liam’s not jealous that Zayn’s last girlfriend goes to their University or the fact that he’s never had a boyfriend, but has had more than a few crushes – and Liam manages to leave out the bits about that guy that Louis hates but he tells Zayn everything about Danielle, the good and bad.  He feels Zayn’s nose against his neck, the soft fabric of his, _Liam’s_ scarf against his cheek while Liam chats about growing up with Louis, when Harry came into the fray, why he’s trying so hard to make his parents proud.  Zayn nods along, licking at his chapped lips, pulling off a glove to run his bare fingers over the back of Liam’s hand until it stops shaking from nerves – _This road is not your own, it’s been covered. It’s been charted so many times_.

Zayn’s fingers are cold like icicles but Liam doesn’t mind.  He speaks in a gruff, smoky tone about silly things like comic books – something Zayn grins at though Liam can barely see it – his favorite films, the plans he and Louis have to holiday in Australia for a week just to surf and burn in the sun.  Something tingles like drifting flakes of a flame over his chest when Zayn snuggles in just a little closer – _Never mind what’s_ _ahead_ – and tells Liam about his sisters, about his mum, about his ridiculously large family that expects him to leave University a doctor or something important but all he wants to do is paint, draw, be _anything_ other than a lifesaver for a sinking ship.  Liam can relate though he doesn’t really say it.  He buries his nose in Zayn’s hair for a moment, eyes shifting shut as that rocking metal bucket floats them through the air and around everything they’re managing to avoid so clumsily.

When they’re standing at the gates, the dying laughter and faded screams from the fair bleeding out behind them now, it feels safe and awkward all at once.  Harry’s yawning quietly, Louis tucked beneath his arm while scrolling through his phone and making faces at all of the pictures Harry’s uploaded.  Zayn’s tucking Liam’s scarf back around his neck, tying it loosely with a small grin that seems like a ghost of what it was when they were on the Ferris wheel.  Liam doesn’t tell him that, standing stiffly like he’s afraid to reach out and touch Zayn in this moment.  Not with Harry and Louis so close by, not when Zayn doesn’t look as vulnerable as he once did.

He ignores Louis’ prodding about their whispers, Harry’s waggling eyebrows every time Zayn shifts from foot to foot like he’s waiting to ask Liam something but doesn’t.  Liam notices it, waves it off because he’s sure Zayn’s just being polite now, trying not to be rude about his own exhaustion and wanting to leave the night behind.

Zayn leans up, hands grabbing onto Liam’s shoulders for support, and Liam’s a little too shocked to absorb the kiss at first.  He’s hanging on a breath when Zayn’s lips, incredibly soft and chapped, push against his own.  He’s spinning like a day in the sun and it’s mind-blowing because Zayn is kissing him.  _Zayn is kissing him_.  It feels funny, numbing against his lips and he’s wide-eyed while Zayn’s lashes rest softly against his cheeks.

He’s hesitant about lifting a hand, resting it on the small of Zayn’s back, kissing back for just a second because the kiss is chaste, innocent.  Zayn’s letting his lips rest against Liam’s and it doesn’t feel sinful or desperate like he knows most first kisses can be.  It feels short, flickering until Zayn angles his head just a little and mouths at Liam’s lips until it kick starts a fire in Liam, eyes finally drifting shut.  It stirs against his mind, dizzy and heady, while Zayn keeps moving his hands over his shoulders, lips moving like the crest of a wave in the wind.  It’s purposeful, the way Zayn tangles a moan against Liam’s lips like he _wants_ this, like he’s telling Liam it’s okay.

“Jesus,” Louis hisses, Harry chuckling.

Zayn grins against Liam’s lips, reality settling back in, and Liam wants to punch Louis in the throat.  He hangs onto the kiss for the last breaths, wanting to latch his teeth onto Zayn’s bottom lip and suck gingerly at it.  He lets Zayn draw back, leaning in for a few quick pecks that seem more like a formality rather than a reminder that Liam doesn’t want the kiss to end.

“Thanks,” Zayn whispers against his lips, the pad of his thumb rubbing over Liam’s cheek before he’s drawing back completely, escaping Liam’s grasp.  Liam feels cold suddenly, too clingy like a school girl but he doesn’t tell Zayn.  Zayn smirks at him, nodding like he knows but he doesn’t, not when he’s rubbing at his lips like he misses the feverish touch of Liam’s.  He’s patting Liam’s shoulder like a mate, like someone caught up in the moment before grinning and moving away from Liam.

Liam sucks in a breath, his vision blurred as Zayn says his farewells to Harry and Louis while holding onto that floppy teddy bear.  He punches at Harry’s arm, leaping back when Louis swats at him and they’re laughing together like old friends.  They’re hugging, tousling each other’s hair until Zayn’s walking away into the shadows, a cloud of smoke already forming around him before he’s too far away.  Liam thinks he sees Zayn look over his shoulder, eyeing Liam for a second but he’s just a smudge of fading colors against the dipping silhouettes of the night.

He’s a memory that Liam knows he’ll be clinging to, alone in bed, wondering if Zayn’s cuddling to that damn bear and wishing it was Liam.  It curls a smile over his lips that lasts just long enough to dull out the sounds of Louis’ voice and Harry’s stupid grin like Liam’s walking away with the best prize of the night.

**

There’s something about the floor of Harry’s University room – don’t ask him _what_ because he’s certain he’ll just stare at you blankly until you walk away – that Liam finds peaceful.  Not the concept of Harry having to step over him every five minutes because Harry is very much like Louis in the sense that he can’t sit fucking still or the way Harry likes to walk around his room half-naked more than any human Liam’s ever known.  No, it’s the way he can think, piece together all of his thoughts, daydream if he wants to and no one thinks nothing of it.  Not Louis, not Niall, and surely not Harry who’s usually too buzzed off his ass from that expensive weed he keeps buying from some kid that used to go to their school but now he sort of just slums around the buildings like he still attends classes there, selling to whatever poor Joe Somebody who’s willing to spend half their tuition on dime bags and poorly rolled blunts.

He thinks, one day, maybe he just likes looking up at the Natalie Portman poster Harry tacked onto the ceiling the day he moved in or maybe it’s because Harry loves listening to early nineties rock music when he’s high – Sheryl Crow in particular, though Harry’s never able to explain why.  It’s not that his thoughts are any clearer when he’s on that cold floor, hands folded behind his head with his ankles crossed and his eyes closed.  He doesn’t have many revelations – except for that time he sorted out Niall is shit at picking out great places to dine at – but he feels somewhat accomplished when he drags himself from the floor, crawling into Harry’s bed to let Harry cuddle to him while listing off all the reasons why he loves Liam so much – _“Because you’re Liam”_ seems to always make it to number one despite Liam arguing that’s not really a reason.

Today is one of those days where he wishes there were more revelations and less of Harry being half-naked.

He stares up at golden legs and they’re almost too girly for Liam with their downy gold hair and smooth skin.  He lifts his eyes further up to toned arms with a scattering of meaningless tattoos that Liam keeps counting but another appears every other day and he has to start all over again.  Harry’s wearing a plaid shirt, his hair looking swirled and soft while shorts are could be classified as underwear based strictly upon their length.  Harry’s rubbing at his cherry lips, a thoughtful expression on his face while singing lowly to the music blaring from his stereo – _All I wanna do is have some fun until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard._

Liam doesn’t think it’s the most pleasant sight – Harry’s crotch hovering just a little too perfectly in Liam’s eye line – but it distracts him from the one thought that’s kept him submerged in an ocean of musings for days: _Zayn_.  Not that every time he closes his eyes there’s a burst of scruff along a sharp jaw, olive skin, thick black hair that Liam’s fingers itch for, chapped lips that are soft and delicate behind his eyelids.  But there is and it haunts him for too many hours when he’s trying to study or sleep or fucking _breathe_.  And maybe he keeps sniffing at his scarf to see if that aroma of smoke, orange zest, sweet cologne has wavered – it hasn’t.  Maybe he sits next to Zayn during Lit class now instead of behind him, chewing on his lip while trying to ignore the way Zayn keeps smiling at him, nudging Liam’s hand whenever he goes to take notes until Liam nearly scratches through the notebook paper while Zayn giggles lowly.

He quite possibly doesn’t mind the haze of music – _I like a good beer buzz early in the morning_ – while listening to Harry go on about the exclusive weed he’s rolling – “It’s from some kid from Oxford, which means it’s brilliant because they only smoke the premium shit.” – because it dulls almost everything he sees for just a moment until he can swallow and not wonder how his lips still feel numb from Zayn’s kisses.

He ignores the way Louis keeps pacing around the small room like he’s a man on the ledge because it’s December now and they’re that much closer to exams before the holiday break.  He tips his head back, eyes meeting Natalie’s and breathes hollow breaths into his chest, eyes shifting shut while Louis complains and Sheryl lulls him – _All I wanna do is have some fun. I’ve got a feeling I’m not the only one._

Louis’ on his second cup of coffee – he’ll drink at least two more before the day’s over because Louis’ one of those students who drowns their anxiety in caffeine and sex; luckily, Liam only has to witness the caffeine part – when Liam blinks his eyes open.  He’s curled onto Harry’s bed, one arm clinging to a pillow with his chin tucked.  He’s blowing the steam away, a pout on his lips while Harry shifts around, a few of the buttons of his shirt undone with his curls pushed back.  He’s twisting the end of his unlit blunt, clicking photos of various objects in the room.  He’s humming lowly, swatting Louis’ foot away when Louis digs a bare toe into his hip, grinning because it’s Louis’ fruitless attempt to get his attention but Harry’s a bit smarter than that.  He knows Louis’ only needy – and probably horny – because he’s avoiding studying for some class he has in an hour.

Liam tries to trace the tattoos cluttered across Harry’s arms while drumming his fingers on his chest, Sheryl wailing through another tune – _Well, okay, I still get stoned. I’m not the kind of girl you’d take home._   He snorts when Harry does that little _sweep-sweep-swipe_ with his hands in his curls, letting them fall back into place before he’s plopping down onto the bed next to Louis, rubbing at Louis’ leg until Louis sighs and curls into him.  He doesn’t spill a drop of coffee, clinging to it like it’s a life line and Liam tries to watch them upside down, the blood rushing to his head until he’s on a high and dizzy.

“We should watch a film tonight,” Louis sighs out, twining his fingers into Harry’s hair while Harry pinches the tip of his blunt.  Harry’s a shit roller, always has been, and Liam wonders how you can smoke every day and still not manage to roll your own shit perfectly.

Harry grunts some sort of response, lips tipping up into a smile.  “You pick horrible films, Lou.”

“Shut it.  I’m making an excuse to snog you later, yeah?” Louis fusses weakly, snuggling his head into Harry’s shoulder.

Harry snorts, nodding.

“Not really in the mood,” Liam says lowly, eyes blinking away when Louis glares at him.  He sinks his teeth into his lip, rocking his head to the music for a moment – _If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad._

“Because?” Louis wonders, stretching the word out like an annoying little sister would.

“Because you have shit taste in films,” Harry says before Liam’s mouth can form words.  He doesn’t disagree though.

“Fuck off.  I have brilliant taste.”

Harry laughs loudly, pinching Louis’ thigh.  “You like films like _the Lake House_.  Or, wait, _Weekend at Bernie’s_.  Like, honestly, who tolerates such filth?”

Louis jerks back, wide blue eyes nearly chasing the smirk from Harry’s lips.  He looks offended, not in the least bit wounded but Harry’s never been good at pissing Louis off.  Not intentionally, at least.  Liam watches, the image still upside down and blurry but it’s still amusing.

“You’re rubbish.  You tell everyone your favorite film is _Fight Club_ ,” Louis hisses, batting Harry’s hand away when he tries to pull Louis back in.

“It’s not,” Harry tells Liam, not that Liam doesn’t already know.

“You’re mad.”

Harry shrugs, pushing his curls back.  “Not everyone needs to know my favorite film is _Love Actually_.”

_No, Harry, not everyone needs to know that_ , Liam thinks, grinning to himself while Louis chases Harry’s words with a cackle.  Liam’s not looking but he’s certain Harry’s rolling those moonlight sweet green eyes, dragging Louis closer again because they seem to have some sort of separation anxiety.  At least, that’s what Liam tells himself because two people shouldn’t need to touch each other _that_ much.  He sighs to himself, his own skin burning because he doesn’t think he would mind Zayn touching him that much.  He wouldn’t mind fingers dancing over his neck, pushing into his hair when it gets longer, legs tangling with his and lips constantly leaving little bruises against his skin like Zayn’s marking him for everyone to remember where Liam’s heart lies.

He shivers, face scrunching and he prays Harry and Louis are too busy having a row to notice.

“Is this about Malik?” Louis asks suddenly.  Liam winces like he’s been found out – _If it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad?_

“Still haven’t called him?” Harry wonders, head tipping back to rest against the windowsill.  He’s not intrusive with his looks like Louis is but there’s a maze of curiosity in his eyes, the flame burning just a little higher when Liam remains silent.

He hasn’t called Zayn.  He could’ve since Harry had programmed Zayn’s number into Liam’s phone about seven seconds after they had left the fair.  And his thumb has scrolled past his name at least three times a day but his hesitation burns away any desire he has to do so.  Something sticky like fear, restraining like doubt keeps him from doing it because, really, what would he say to Zayn?

_“Thanks for kissing me and walking away?”_

_“Oh I had fun on our double date, you know the one my best mate set up because I’m quite chicken shit about chatting with you.”_

_“Sorry I sat next to you in class and stared at you the whole time instead of, I don’t know, chatting with you like a normal chap.  I’m quite shit at this whole being madly in love with someone I don’t really know but can’t stop thinking about.  Maybe we could have coffee and discuss my other insecurities?”_

It aches in his chest, prickles against the tips of his fingers, stirs in his stomach like the worst kind of bender – definitely one of those nights where you drink too many shots of Irish whiskey to try and impress some crush and end up painting their shirt in your vomit.  It’s not that Louis hasn’t been encouraging – well, he hasn’t, but Niall and Harry have been.  Even Cher tells him that they looked swell together when Liam stops by the pizza café.  It does nothing to dull this need inside of Liam to hear it from Zayn.  Yet, Zayn’s mostly quiet every time they see each other, which isn’t all that often.  He doesn’t mention the date, if that’s what it actually was, or the kiss, or anything about that night and maybe it was just some stupid dream.  Maybe Liam really has been hanging around Harry too much because he’s obviously catching a few too many contact highs from the curly-haired little shit if he thinks that one night where he held Zayn’s hand, shared smiles with him, felt those lips pressing gently against Liam’s really happened.

“I honestly don’t know what you see in him,” Louis says offhandedly, leaning further into Harry while Harry nods his head to the music – _Well, okay, we get along. So what if right now everything’s wrong?_

“I thought it was because Liam thinks he’s massively hot?” Harry offers, eyes blinking open like he’s missed something.  Liam breathes out a laugh while Louis smacks Harry’s shoulder.

“He’s a dork, Li.  He wears leather jackets, smokes, looks like some model from Milan with his hair and those fucking cheekbones, and walks around everywhere like he’s too cool for this place,” Louis sighs, waving a hand to add in the extra things he doesn’t feel like listing off.  “But he’s a complete geek.  Kid likes school, loves to learn, reads comic books – “

“ _I_ read comic books,” Liam interjects, lips sliding into a frown.

“Exactly!  Complete dork,” Louis laughs out, refusing to look apologetic when Liam flips him off.  “There are plenty of other hot, fit lads on campus for you to wallow over.”

“Like who?” Harry asks tightly with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

Harry’s not a possessive person but he seems to trade off daftness for jealousy quite easily.  It’s not that he doesn’t know he has Louis in his back pocket, though Louis fights that claim wholeheartedly, but Liam knows Harry has his insecurities.  He has his fears that maybe, just maybe, he’s not going be enough for Louis in a few years.  Maybe this is just young love because Louis needs something breezy, unplanned to make it through Uni.  Maybe Louis will want a wife and kids or some chap who has a mapped out plan for the future with career plans and a nice flat and the kind of attention to focus that Harry lacks most days.

Liam thinks Harry’s crazy but he always manages to talk Harry down from those thoughts before Harry’s emotions swallow him whole.  They never tell Louis about it, their little chats, and Harry seems more than grateful when Liam inches an arm around his shoulders and quietly reminds him that Louis incapable of surviving this little thing called life without Harry.

“Oh hush,” Louis says before scoffing when Harry’s jaw flexes.  He leans in quickly, pressing a rough kiss to Harry’s lips and Harry doesn’t draw back, curling his fingers into Louis’ hair.

Liam looks away when he sees the pink of tongue, trying not to let that nauseous feeling overtake him.  Best mates or not, they truly were just idiots in love.  He can’t help the way his lips twitch into a smile, sinking with the music until he hears the wet pull of their lips parting.

“Right.”

“Better?” Louis asks, his tone curled with annoyance.

“Right.”

“Can you say anything else?”

“Wrong?” Harry offers and Liam’s certain he hears the echo of Louis’ hand smacking Harry’s chest, right between those two swallows inked against his skin.

They’re almost halfway through Nirvana’s _MTV Unplugged_ when Niall bounds into Harry’s room, clumsily stepping over Liam before crashing between Louis and Harry on the bed.  He toes off his shoes, tilting his head at Liam for a moment before elbowing Harry and softly pleading with him to spark up the blunt.  Louis’ groaning, Harry complying with a manic grin that sort of scares Liam but he’s too busy curling his thoughts around the gravely sound of Kurt Cobain to really care – _I thought you died alone a long, long time ago. Oh no, not me. We never lost control._

“The Malik thing?” Niall asks, his voice tight after taking a hit off the joint, holding the smoke in his chest for a beat before passing it back to Harry, exhaling through a cough.  He’s thumping his chest, giggling high and sharply.

Harry takes a long haul, curling the smoke out through his nose before nodding stiffly.  “The Malik thing.”

“I’m sorry, but do you idiots have a name for this?” Liam asks, tilting his head back while waving a hand absently through the air.

“The Malik thing,” Niall and Harry say together, snickering like kids while Louis rolls his eyes.

Liam sighs lowly, tucking his chin.  His fingers rap on his chest – _You’re face to face with the man who sold the world_ – while he pretends not to hear Harry and Niall whispering silly things to each other.

“It’s pretty pathetic, Li,” Louis adds, toes pushing at the top of Liam’s head.  Liam doesn’t have the energy to swat them away, eyes shifting shut to corral his thoughts.

He quite possibly has the worst judgment when it comes to best mates.

“It’s not,” Niall coughs out.

He’s not experienced enough to let the smoke settle in his chest, tingle against his senses before exhaling it out like Harry.  He’s all puff, puff, washed out inhale before he’s coughing it all out and missing out on half the splendid pleasure of the high.  Harry’s tried to teach him, repeatedly, but Niall’s attention span is that of a three year old and he manages to cough his way through each and every one of his pulls.

“Then what is it?” Louis snaps, fanning away the smoke before Harry’s cracking the window, blowing his smoke out into the air for Louis.  Louis offers him a tight grin that seems more put on than genuine but Harry accepts it anyway.

“Cute,” Niall offers, smirking like he’s answered the million dollar question.

“Romantic,” Harry says dreamily, leaning his head on Louis’ stiff shoulder.

“Fucking pathetic,” Louis repeats, nodding like he’s right.  Liam thinks he’s an ass but his opinion doesn’t seem to count for anything when those three were involved.

“You’re evil.”

“Heartless,” Harry concurs with a nod, a deep suck this time leaving nothing but ash and a bright orange tip behind before he’s passing it back to Niall, head tipping back to puff out pretty ring clouds that swirl out the window.  He misses the disappointed look he gets from Louis, grinning like he’s one drag away from being completely blitzed.

“Says the boy who’s madly in love with me,” Louis sighs, poking Harry’s side.

“I’m going to need therapy ‘cause of you,” Harry says happily, his voice deeper than usual with a nice rasp to it.  It fits perfectly against Kurt Cobain’s – _I laughed and shook his hand.  Made my way back home._

“Shock treatment,” Niall giggles out, his head lolling to the side to rest on Harry’s shoulder.  He takes an extra puff, a shorter one, holding the smoke in as long as he can until he’s coughing out clouds of white smoke, smirking as it drags through the air.

“Fucking twats,” Louis says, his voice thick but there’s a smile tipping his lips higher.

Liam doesn’t miss it when Louis’ hand reaches between Harry and Niall, nicking the joint from between Harry’s thumb and forefinger, putting it to his own lips to take a long drag of it.  He’s feathering out pretty clouds of smoke, holding some in to lean in and pressing his lips to Harry’s, breathing the rest into his mouth.  When he draws back, snickering lowly as the weed does its magic on his senses, Liam shooting him an incredulous glare.

“Oh fuck off, saint Liam.  It’s the fucking exams and Uni and fucking _science_ , Li,” Louis explains, waving a hand around.  He sighs, slumping against Harry while Harry presses a delicate kiss to his forehead.  “It’s science, Liam, I swear.  Rocks and dirt and fucking slugs.  Damn science.”

Liam tries not to laugh to himself, his nose scrunching when Niall chokes on an inhale this time.

“Fuck science, love.  It’ll get you nowhere,” Harry whispers to Louis, smiling against his temple.

Liam’s rather certain it’s going to get Louis very far, actually.  He holds onto his words, pulling his phone from his pocket.  There’s six notifications from Harry’s Instagram and he can’t be bothered figuring out what Harry’s tagged him in now.  He breathes in a sharp inhale, trying not to swallow in the smoke that’s barely making it out of the window now, catching the little smiles Harry and Niall keep exchanging with lidded eyes.  It’s a subtle groove they’ve all become accustom to and Liam thinks, honestly, he wouldn’t make it through a week without little moments like this one.

He scrolls through his contacts, thinks about calling his mum back because she’s left no less than two messages a day on his voicemail about little things: Christmas break, money, grades, studying, how much she loves him.  He considers texting Cher, maybe Eleanor.  He could call Greg or Andy, see how all of his friends back home are doing.  He knows he’s fortunate, Louis too, because most kids that grow up in Wolverhampton stay there.  They go to the local University, get small jobs, do things that seem big enough to them because it’s a small city and no one really has plans to go anywhere.  His parents didn’t, neither did his grandparents.  Nicola and Ruth will probably start families there, abandoning those silly pipe dreams they had as kids of being a singer or a government employee.  Maybe that’s where he was supposed to be, a firefighter with the same neighbors he’s had since he was six with that small family, a dog, and a fucking storybook ending.

He thinks, sometimes, lives like that are never as perfect as they come across.

He thumbs through a few more contacts, nearly deleting Danielle’s number in the process, before stopping on the one name he doesn’t actively think about communicating with.  He could and maybe it won’t hurt as much when he gets turned down.  Maybe it won’t really matter because who plans their entire lives with someone after one date?  Not him.  Well, not entirely.

He thumbs through a quick text – _meet me at the library? fifteen???_ – and immediately drops his phone on his chest.  He lets the haze of smoke above him swirl in desolate patterns, eyes sliding shut while Louis groans about needing more coffee, Niall giggles into Harry’s shoulder, and Harry tries to, loudly, figure out the meaning of life.

The buzz against his chest unsettles him.  He tries to rule the grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth when he clicks on the message - _:D Xx - Z_.  It’s silly, the message, and he finds it hard to fight the smile spreading over his lips, the glowing warmth spreading through his belly.  His cheeks fucking ache, his lip is raw from gnawing at it and he hates how he keeps checking the message every few seconds to make sure it’s still there.

Maybe he really is catching a high from the smoke Harry’s breathing out of those curled, cherry lips.

**

Liam honestly doesn’t know what he’s expecting, sitting at that small table near the back of the library.  He’s been drumming his fingers on the table for a little too long, one earbud in while bobbing his head to something on his iPod, another one of Louis’ picks, – _It’s you and me forever. I’m always going to be right here._ – that he might listen to a couple of more times tomorrow on his run.  Apparently he thinks he and Zayn will ditch the library once he arrives, maybe sneak off to the coffee shop or Liam’s room for a little more privacy.  He stupidly thinks that, yeah, maybe Zayn wants that too.  Zayn wants to cuddle up to him, head on Liam’s broad shoulder, running his fingers down the center of Liam’s palm while they whisper lowly about nothing at all like they’ve been doing this dating thing for months.

He doesn’t even know why he grips his surprise tightly when Zayn strides up, dropping his bag onto the table with a grin before pulling out a bunch of books and his notebook.  Apparently, Zayn is in fact a lot brighter than Liam because you don’t invite someone to library unless you plan to study, right?

Liam wonders how long it’ll be before he crawls under the table and waits to die.

“Hey,” Zayn huffs out, sliding into the chair to the left of Liam, far away enough that Liam doesn’t have to worry about reaching out and feeling Zayn’s fingers tickling his palm.

“Hey,” Liam says shyly, chewing his lip.

Zayn quirks an eyebrow, flipping open one of his books – something by Shakespeare that’s thick with a bunch of words Liam’s certain he doesn’t understand – before yanking his pen from behind his ear.

Liam takes him in, the way his hair is hidden by a snapback, the thick scruff lining his face today like the shadows from a leafless tree.  Those long lashes do little to hide the streaks of flaxen in those caramel eyes.  His lips are shiny, tongue running over them again to leave behind saliva and gloss.  His leather jacket is pulled over a Batman shirt, Liam biting against his silly grin because he’s certain he has the same one back home.  The sleeves are pushed up on the jacket, a scattering of tattoos on his forearm that Liam’s seen enough times to know the microphone wraps around his skin, the ‘ZAP!’ has turned from yellow and red to an inky black and yellow now, the numbers are scattered in no particular order with the outline of crossed fingers on the other side.

“You didn’t bring your notes?” Zayn asks, his voice decidedly low and rough like he’s still recovering from a pleasant kip on the couch.

Liam ducks his head, fingers curling against the table.  He pulls the earbud from his ear, clicking off his iPod and he’s doing everything not to look in Zayn’s eyes.  He’s trying to settle that flush of red that’s pulsing against cheeks, chewing the inside of his mouth.  He wants to come up with a brilliant excuse, maybe find a reason to leave suddenly because he can’t bare admitting that he was thinking this little rendezvous was supposed to mean something else.

Dumb, stupid thoughts that just seem to fall in line with everything else he’s done lately.

“It’s okay,” Zayn says brightly, gently pushing his notebook toward Liam.  He waits until Liam finally looks up, blinking those delicately long lashes while his tongue presses at his teeth through a smile.  “You can use mine while I read off some of the things I found last night.”  There’s a shyness in his tone, his cheeks high with that smile and Liam feels a bit helpless, staring for just a little too long at Zayn.

Liam nods, fingertips unconsciously brushing against Zayn’s as he reaches for the notebook, drawing it closer to him while wanting that burn against his skin to continue.

Zayn smirks, snorts before pulling his hand back, flipping through a few more pages in the book.  He’s reading quietly, that accent tangling around Liam’s senses until he can memorize the way it sounds without trying.  He tries to imitate it softly, keeping his eyes lidded and his head low.  He scribbles a few things in the margin, admiring Zayn’s neat handwriting, the way he swoops with his L’s, scratches marks to represents his I’s.  He thinks his own handwriting is shit.  It looks terrible against Zayn’s and it rattles him.  Maybe _he_ looks shit against Zayn?  Maybe they don’t fit like something inside of him hopes so desperately.  He sighs against a breath, missing most of what Zayn says but he’s still scribbling along the paper like he catches it all.

“I had fun at the fair.”

The words come out so easily, like the slide of honey down the side of a cup into warm tea.  He nearly misses the glide of Zayn’s grin, pulling a breath that feels like it’s choking him.  His eyes run over Zayn’s mouth; the way those lips spread his cheeks, toy with the corners of his mouth, looking shiny and inviting.  He drags his teeth over his own lip, biting down hard enough that the temptation to lean forward and taste Zayn’s lips feels fleeting.

“Yeah, me too,” Liam finally says, hovering on an exhale when the corners of Zayn’s eyes crinkle in just the slightest.  “Harry and Lou are loads of fun.”

Zayn nods slowly, looking unsure for a brief moment before his smile tightens.  “You too.”

Liam blinks at him, his brain slow on the register.  He wants to blame it on the smoke, that high that’s lingering even though he’s certain he’s more sober now than he was all day.

“I mean, I had a lot of fun at the fair with _you_ ,” Zayn says, a short laugh breaking through his lips.  It’s nervous, strained and there’s hints of something rosy pounding over those sharp cheeks.  “You’re loads of fun.”

“You too,” Liam whispers like he suddenly realizes he’s in a library and he’s supposed to be quiet.  Or maybe he doesn’t have the courage to say it like he means it.  He feels like a dick when Zayn nods, that smile losing some of its luster.  This can’t truly be that hard.

They stay quiet for a moment, Zayn’s eyes flickering back to the pages while Liam scratches little doodles into a corner of the paper.  He feels miserable for a brief second, wanting to pull that impossibly infectious smile back to Zayn’s lips.  He wants to listen to him for days, his voice an echo against Liam’s brain when he thinks he can’t take anymore.  He wants Zayn’s hands under his shirt, his mouth on his neck, his body meeting Liam’s underneath the sheets, and, fuck, he wants Zayn smiling against his collarbone as he fucks the oxygen from Liam’s body.

“What did the green grape say to the purple grape?” Liam blurts out, large eyes looking expectant and hopeful when Zayn’s head jerks up.  He waits a beat, Zayn looking over him while questioning Liam with those amber eyes.

“What?” Zayn finally asks.

“Breathe idiot!  _Breathe_!”

Liam’s wheezing out a laugh, his face bunching up and he thinks it’s stupid, the way Zayn doesn’t react at first.  He feels like the worst kind of fool, little chuckles still breaking past his lips while Zayn stares at him blankly.  His heart sinks and, really, can he crawl under the table now?

But then it happens.  Zayn snorts.  A sputter passes over his lips, eyes crinkling with his cheeks lifting.  He’s laughing, full and hard while slapping a hand against one of the books.  He’s rocking back in his chair, drawing eyes from a few of the other students but he doesn’t seem to care.  His eyes are wet and shiny when he settles, little bursts of giggles still breaking through and Liam’s cheeks are throbbing from his smile.  Something warm and tangent is settling in his stomach and he feels peace slide thickly against his mind.

Zayn laughs at all of his jokes, even the ones Liam has to tell three times before getting them right.  He wipes at the tears, says a few of them back to Liam with broken chuckles and quiet snickers.  They move through Shakespeare with small smiles, Zayn reaching out to stroke Liam’s knuckles as he cracks open another book and Liam doesn’t tense up at the feeling.  He slumps in his chair, nonchalantly pushing his hand closer so that Zayn can trace the tattoo running across his wrist.  He doesn’t miss the way Zayn smiles without lifting his eyes from the pages, biting at his bottom lip while his thumb traces Liam’s skin, the hairs on his arm standing up immediately.

Liam clears his throat softly when Zayn’s lost somewhere in the pages of Homer, his face gentled with concentration.  He feels a bit daft because, really, he didn’t want Zayn’s eyes on him like this.  Like he’s a comet streaking the sky in oranges and ivories.  Like he’s something rare, important for that brief moment.  It pulls at his shoulders, streaks his cheeks a painful red, and his mouth goes dry when Zayn tilts his head sideways to admire him.

“Meri anche bawth pyaara hai,” Liam says quickly, the words not nearly as neatly pronounced as he practiced them and he’s a little unsure by the time he thickens his accent, shoulders lifting in that tense fashion he’s tried to avoid.

Zayn blinks at him for a moment before he’s lifting an eyebrow, lips pursing.

“Your eyes are beautiful?” Zayn asks, the words coming out painfully slow like Zayn’s still trying to understand.

Liam flushes immediately, his hand finding the nape of his neck.  Fuck, he feels small and stupid.  He worries his bottom lip with his teeth, scratching his pen across the paper to relieve some of his frustration.

“No, I meant, well,” Liam stumbles, inhaling deeply, “I was trying to say _your_ eyes are beautiful.  I think.”

Zayn nods once, lips still pressed together with a hint of concern fixing across his eyes.

Liam shakes his head, quick inhale, long exhale.  He feels some of the color drain from his cheeks and Zayn’s silence isn’t helping.  No, it’s making him reconsider the words scratching at his throat.  The ones that are running over the tip of his tongue and ruining him just that easily.

“Aap budsoorat ho.”

Liam chokes on an exhale this time, fingers wrinkling the edges of the paper.  He’s hopeful for a second too long before Zayn’s eyes go wide, mouth gaping, fingers splayed against the table.  Liam tips his head back, disappointment inching in and, yeah, he wishes he would’ve actually took notes when he decided that it was a brilliant idea to look up a few phrases in Urdu on Google.  He wishes that little, insignificant part of himself that thought it would be endearing, even a tad romantic to look up a few words in the language he knew Zayn spoke – not that he’d learned that on Facebook either, but maybe he did – and recite them back to Zayn would impress Zayn in just the slightest.

If Louis were here, he’d remind Liam he was a fucking nerd.  And probably slap him for good measure.

Zayn clears his throat this time, mouth sliding shut before his lips prick up into a small smile.  He fixes his snapback so it’s sitting backwards on his head.  The drag of wood on wood as Zayn pulls his chair closer to Liam pierces Liam’s ears, eyes flickering up to finally meet Zayn’s.  The heat from Zayn’s body, shoulder to shoulder now, pulls at Liam and he struggles against the way his heart pounds, his face still scrunched in mortification.

Zayn sighs quietly, fingers inching over the table until the slightly calloused tips brush weird patterns over Liam’s knuckles.

“I think you meant, aap khoobsoorat ho,” Zayn tells him, his voice raspy and low.  Liam can hear the smile in his words, framing each one with a touch of gentleness Liam’s a little unprepared for.

“Aap khoobsoorat ho,” Liam repeats slowly, trying to mimic each of Zayn’s little accents, the tone, the slow roll of the tongue.  He lets his eyes flit upward, catching the tail end of Zayn’s grin.

Zayn nods, teeth nipping at his bottom lip.  He lets his tongue roll over them, slicking them as his thumb curves around Liam’s tendons like the smoke from a fire.  Their breathing is loud, coarse, and it’s fogging disillusion for a second as Liam slides his eyes shut while leaning into the heat.

There’s a finger tucking under his chin, lifting it a little and he’s met by swirls of rust brown, streaks of smudged honey, speckles of peppermint moss.  There’s a curved smile, something like a broken sunset against almost orange-pink skies.  The scruff outlines the sharp features in his face, that damn fluorescent lighting of the library washing out some of the richness of his complexion but Liam’s still lost in the awe.

Long lashes curve over his cheeks before Zayn’s stroking his thumb over the scruff on Liam’s chin, the rest of his fingers curling there.  That smile slides sideways, lips parting to bare teeth and a tongue pressing fully against them.  Liam feels thoughtless when he grins back, the wake of a wave early in the morning.  Long, thin fingers dance over his hand, sliding up his forearm before dragging short nails back over his skin.  Liam doesn’t mind the sting, trying to find some sort of syncopation to his breathing but it all comes out labored.

“Jaaneman,” Zayn says, the slide of his voice smooth.  His thumb drags over Liam’s bottom lip, a darkness like the casting of the night settling across his eyes.  “Mai aap ke saath honaa chaahathaa.”

Liam swallows thickly, shuddering when Zayn’s fingers glide up his jaw, over his cheek before falling away.  His breathing is still out of rhythm, his fingers tingling, and he has to blink at Zayn for a few minutes before he can function properly.

“What does that mean?” Liam stutters out.

Zayn snorts, chewing at his lip.  “You’ll find out one day.  Hopefully.”

Liam nods, quick and stiff.  He tries not to flinch when Zayn leans forward, pressing a small peck to his cheek before he’s slouching back into his chair, refusing to meet Liam’s eyes as he traces over the words of his book once again.  His hand remains on Liam’s, dipping between Liam’s open fingers, drawing back over his knuckles.  There’s a haze of heat surrounding him, his cheek still burning from where Zayn’s lips had pressed, sweat prickling against his forehead and he feels too hot.

“Shukriya,” Liam mutters, unsure.  Zayn doesn’t look up but a knowing grin passes over his lips.  It pulses against Liam’s sentences.

“I mean, is that right?  Thank you, yeah?” Liam asks, his voice still clenched with uncertainty.

Zayn gives him a small nod, that grin expanding until his cheeks lift higher.  It pulls an amused smirk from Liam’s lips, a shyness colliding with uncertainty until Liam’s stuttered quiet, watching Zayn read rather than trying to read his notes back.  He’s sure they’re nothing but bleak words of randomness he’ll never understand anyway.

He can’t focus for too long, Zayn flipping through pages, highlighting text as if he’s been pulled into his own world of solitude.  Liam likes the way Zayn’s tongue licks out when he’s really concentrating, brow furrowed, eyes squinting over text before he’s rubbing at his temple, sighing impatiently.  He drums his thumb along the edge of the table when he finds a groove, his foot tapping on the ground, leg jiggling.  He’s hunched over the small pile of books, adjusting and readjusting that silly snapback.  Liam’s enamored with that restless energy, the way Zayn chews at his lip while reading over a passage while his hand strokes over Liam’s.  Zayn’s fingers are moving lazily over his skin like they have no intention of ever leaving.  Liam hopes that they don’t, feeling blanketed under their warmth.

“Would you like to go to this pub I know tomorrow night?” Liam blurts out, cursing himself again.  Since when did he become this spontaneous, jittery freak?  He’d like to think he was much smoother with Danielle, that guy – really, what was his name now?  Damn Louis. – but Louis would probably remind him he was a complete wreck the first time he asked Danielle out and, whatever he did with that guy, didn’t really count toward actually courting someone.

Zayn looks up through his lashes, easing back into his chair until it’s almost rocking resting on its back legs.  He rubs at the scruff along his cheek, chewing on his thumbnail.

“Tomorrow night,” Zayn repeats, his tone considering.  His index finger strokes his bottom lip.  Liam wants to stroke it with his tongue.

“Yeah,” Liam breathes out, trying not to clutch onto hope for once.  He fucking chokes it this time.

Zayn sweeps his eyes over the books, Liam’s hands, the fucking pen rolling back and forth between Liam’s fingers.  He blinks up, teeth biting at a corner of his lip.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”  Liam’s mouth is slack, tongue heavy.

Zayn snorts, nodding minutely.  “Tomorrow’s good.  I need to study first.”

Liam nods quickly, agreeing.  He laughs to himself because, yeah, Zayn was a bit of a geek.  Liam doesn’t seem to mind.  No, he thinks he wants Zayn more because of it.

**

The pub is one of those landmarks in the city.  It’s old, a bit rundown but still has that homely feel that most of the patrons love.  It’s not small, not decisively large either, but it fits a good amount of people on most nights.  The bar is a long stretch in the center of it all, stools lined up along it and almost every one of them is filled like it is on every other night because it’s one of the closest places for people to get a cheap beer, some decent pub grub, and the kind of music that doesn’t make you want to throw a chair at the jukebox.  There’s a few pool tables off to the side, already surrounded by some cloud of smoke because no one really complains about the fact that smoking is kind of banned in pubs because it’s the one place most of the University kids, the adults of the city, and a few elderly people can come for a quick huff, a shot of something dark, and watch a game on the telly.

There’s round tables sitting high, a few booths, square tables centered all around the bar.  It’s mostly quiet during the week, until days like Thursday or Friday roll around and most the attendants need to start their high into the weekend because it’s been one of those mindless weeks that everyone has.  It’s got poor lighting from the low wattage bulbs but it makes up for that in continuous drinks, a chilled atmosphere that never sparks too bright unless a couple of frat kids tumble in on their way to another bender or party.

It’s a constant flow of customers, sometimes a bit too crowded when there’s a good footie game on or when the pub hosts some sort of silly promotional event to draw in more patrons.  It never works because the same people have been coming there for years, like their children will, their grandchildren as well.  It’ll always draw in the Uni crowd – what’s University without a hangover or two? – and Liam’s sure he’ll see half of them slumped over in their seats tomorrow morning, sunglasses on, praying for the day to die off a little until their next trip to one of the more upscale bars or that silly party someone’s hosting at their rundown house with the dead grass and kegs lined up in the bed of a mate’s beat up truck.

Liam’s expecting the crowd tonight, the roll of Uni kids looking for something to hammer away their thoughts of cramming for exams, last minute papers, fucking dissertations about Romeo and Juliet or ways to save the damn ozone.  He’s not expecting Harry, Niall, and Louis blending into the crowd, Niall and Louis off to the side playing a round of pool while Harry’s drumming his fingers along the beaten down wooden table they always sit at.  Half of him wants to run back out the door, send Zayn a quick text to meet up at the coffee shop instead but he’s not given the chance because Zayn’s striding in right behind him and Harry’s calling out to them, hands cupped over his mouth to be heard over the strain of music flooding the place – _Nobody said it was easy. It’s such a shame for us to part. Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard._

He blinks at Zayn, hands at his side as Zayn’s lips slide into a perfect smile.  The hovering smoke stings his eyes, burns his senses on an inhale but it feels great.  It feels like home, that deep drag of breath so he can almost taste the beer on his tongue, the rum at the back of his throat.  He’s doing his best to ignore Harry’s call, the way he’s waving them over manically like he’s drifting off of some high and crashing a little too hard.  Liam’s sure he probably is but he’s busying himself with gazing in those nearly whiskey brown eyes, the way corners of Zayn’s mouth round and twitch with his grin.

“No Coldplay,” Zayn whispers.

Liam ticks out a laugh, nodding.  “No Coldplay.”

Liam’s fingers twitch, his hand trembling before he reaches forward to run his fingertips over the back of Zayn’s fingers.  Zayn doesn’t draw away, settled into that grin like it’s never coming off.  It makes it easier for Liam to link a few of their fingers, pulling on a sigh when Harry pounds at the table to get their attention, waving off some waitress who’s eyeing him like he’s insane.  He is, his boyfriend too, but Liam doesn’t bother to tell her that as he pulls Zayn toward the table.

“What are you doing here?” Liam hisses lowly, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

It’s not that he told Harry, or Louis and Niall for that matter, about his date – that’s what you call it when you ask someone to a bar right?  He thinks so but, then again, Louis has asked him more than a dozen times a week to go out for drinks so – with Zayn.  He’s made it a point to avoid Louis’ questioning about his plans, why he wouldn’t be able to help Louis study for his Microbiology exam or why he wouldn’t be crashing on Harry’s floor while Harry and Louis pretend not to make eyes at each other with little touches that annoy Liam.  Niall hadn’t asked, never does, but there was a sadness to his eyes when Liam didn’t say anything about possibly going with Niall to check out Josh’s band earlier in the evening.  He knows it’s because if he tells them, mainly Louis, they’ll interfere.  They’ll try to coach Liam along, give him tips, fucking invite themselves along to make sure Liam doesn’t crash and burn like they know he will.  He sort of knows it too but he doesn’t express that because he’s practicing ‘confidence first’ all of the sudden, sort of like Niall is now a practicing “scholar of faith” – that’s what Niall called it; Louis called it bullshit – instead of the Catholic he was raised to be.

“Did you forget what tonight is?” Harry asks, a blissed out smile on his lips.  Those green eyes are shaded with pink, the high subsiding but Harry looks like he’s still somewhere in the middle of it.

“Thursday,” Liam offers, shrugging his shoulders.

“Trivia Thursday,” Louis calls out from the pool table, missing a shot that Niall smirks at.  Louis expresses his gratitude to Liam with a middle finger.  Liam’s tempted to return the appreciation in the same manner.

“Trivia Thursday,” Harry repeats, decidedly slow with a lazy smirk this time.

“Trivia Thursday,” the waitress says with less enthusiasm, dropping off a tray of beers before pushing her pinkish-blonde hair behind her shoulders, batting hauntingly crystal blue eyes at Zayn before shimmying away.

Liam’s not sure if he wants to be distracted by the way Harry’s sliding further down the booth or the way he literally wants to yank Zayn closer to inform the waitress that, yeah, Zayn’s sort of with _him_ tonight.  Sort of.

“Is that a good thing?” Zayn asks quietly, leaning up to Liam’s ear.

“It’s the most smashing part of the week,” Louis declares, nearly shouting across the bar.  Liam’s always wondered how Louis’ senses seem to be more acute when he’s drinking.

“Bloody ace is what it is,” Niall concurs, sinking two balls in one go.  Louis muttering defiant curses as he edges around Niall.

“It’s brill, really,” Harry slides out, sipping on a frothy beer.  His tongue licks away the suds, that dimple etched into his cheek when he grins at Zayn.

Zayn nods slowly, looking between Harry and Liam like he’s a bit unnerved by it all.  Liam feels the way Zayn’s fingers tighten around his and he gives a comforting squeeze back, trying not to look resigned because, fuck, they’re already there and it is Trivia Thursday – “The best night of the week,” Liam has declared more than a few times while buzzed – plus he doesn’t see a point in walking out when he knows they’ll follow Zayn and him wherever they go like a litter of homeless puppies.

Harry slides over in the booth, patting a spot while jerking his head at Zayn.  Liam wants to offer to find them a table in the corner somewhere, away from the madness but the pub is rather full and he knows any chance of having something resembling a private moment died when they walked in.  But Zayn’s looking a little hopeful, biting at his lip before he’s untangling his fingers from Liam’s.  He misses the heat immediately, briskly following Zayn as the leaner boy slides into the booth next to Harry, fanning away the beer Harry offers him with a polite smile.

“I prefer vodka,” Zayn declares, his grin growing sinfully dark and Harry’s nodding manically, waving over the waitress.

Liam settles himself against the worn out cushion of the booth, trying not to grin at the way Harry and Zayn whisper to each other, throw out orders of shots and mixed drinks while she scribbles everything down with an annoyed expression.  He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, resting them on his thigh, tiptoeing the space between him and Zayn because he wants to put them in Zayn’s lap, but he settles for placing them on the table, trying not to hum along to the jukebox – _Questions of science. Science and progress do not speak as loud as my heart._

_Fucking Coldplay_ , he thinks, smiling brightly.

Louis loses the first game to Niall horribly, buying them a round of beer while Zayn and Harry down a shot or two of cheap vodka.  Zayn stops there, lighting up a cigarette – Liam tries not to think it’s cute that Zayn actually asks his permission first like he doesn’t want to offend Liam – while Harry slurps through a beer and then another shot.  There’s some undead rule between the four of them to either be completely shitfaced before the game starts, because Louis and Harry seem to think they’re smarter when they’re on the edge of intoxication, or blitzed off some of that really great weed Harry keeps stashed under his bed – “Peter Parker isn’t the only one with some fit Mary Jane,” Harry giggles out one night – because it’s funnier when they lose that way.  Liam doesn’t really partake in either but he doesn’t stop them when they’re three sheets to the wind, calling out all the wrong answers while laughing into their hands.  No one seems to mind since half the pub is usually pissed by then or too caught up in a footie game to notice how loud Louis is or how Niall keeps stumbling when he goes to take a pee.  It’s embarrassing but amusing too.

Liam settles on telling terrible jokes because he thinks they’re funny and Zayn kind of laughs too, patting Liam’s shoulder like he’s done a good job.  Harry giggles but it’s not as convincing, still lingering on his high and finding a new one in the alcohol the waitress keeps dropping by their table.  Liam chews on his lip as Zayn talks about his classes, his weekends spent studying because, honestly, he really is a good student.  Liam chews on his thumbnail, smiling through chats about Batman, the new Thor film Zayn’s dying to see, quiet talks about plans for the holiday with Zayn’s mouth to Liam’s ear and a sadness dragging at Liam’s heart.

He’s considered it – the trip back home, dragging Louis kicking and screaming because it’ll be dreadfully cold and snowing, the way his mum’s face will light up and his will too when he sees the decorations, the swirl of Christmas colors on houses, his sisters.  He hasn’t thought about what those weeks will be like without Niall when he travels back to Mullingar or the fact that he won’t spend every morning in a coffee shop while Louis whines through another wait for his daily cup.  He feels something sink inside of him because, now, he’ll have to think about weeks without sitting in another boring class while staring at a sharp quiff, defined cheeks, dark stubble.  He won’t listen to Zayn humming to himself.  Those fingertips won’t trace over the pulse of Liam’s heartbeat on the inside of his wrist, those lips won’t touch Liam’s skin, easing away the ache of being alone.  He’ll have to settle for phone calls, if he’s lucky, a few texts.  He’ll have to hope, when they get back, Zayn remembers him.

He wonders how long he’s always felt this forgettable.

“He’s a bloody, fucking Irish cheater.  Magical rainbows and pots of gold, the little shit,” Louis grumbles when he slides next to Harry in the booth, forcing Liam and Zayn to scoot over.  “’m too sober for this.”

Liam stays a little stiff, letting Zayn crowd into his space until he feels the pounding heat from Zayn’s body next to his.  Zayn lets a smirk crawl over his lips, his fingertips creeping over the seam of Liam’s jeans, burning through denim when they drag over his thigh.

“Oi, come on Zaynie.  ‘m quite fed up with these rookies,” Niall calls out, waving Zayn over.

Zayn’s hesitant for a moment, sucking at his bottom lip before his grin ticks over his mouth.  He’s nodding, nudging Liam aside and Liam regretfully scoots out of the booth to let Zayn escape.  He thinks about chucking one of the empty shot glasses at Niall’s head but settles on glaring at Niall, who’s downing another beer and looking a bit burnt out from whatever high he got with Harry.  It leaves Liam sighing, slouching into the booth and wishing for better mates.

“You’re a puppy, I swear,” Louis giggles, head resting on Harry’s shoulder while he points at Liam.

Liam purses his lips, disappointment evident.  Better mates, definitely.

“Haz,” Liam drags out, waiting until Harry peeks his head, eyes glazed over with a lazy grin folding over cherry lips.  He’s the crisp scarlet of a sunset, wavering from chuckles to hiccupped giggles.

Louis shoots Liam a pointed look, reading Liam’s thoughts before he can speak them.  He’s shaking his head stiffly, fighting against a grin but Liam waves him off.  Louis will skate on that line between defensive and jealous until he knows Harry’s too bladdered to know what’s going on.

“Another round, yeah?” Liam offers, dropping a few quid on the table.

Harry bites down on his bottom lip, white teeth gleaming as he grins.  He nods slowly like the movement is too dizzying, waving the waitress over again.  Liam ignores her deep sigh, ordering a few rounds of beer before she can stomp away.

He leans back, pleased, avoiding Louis’ looks or the way Louis keeps kicking him under the table like he’s doing something he shouldn’t.  He’s the responsible one, always sensible, always thoughtful.  Louis allows him a slip up every now and then and he’s taking full advantage of that.  After all, the only piece of attention he really wants is halfway across the pub, losing miserably to Niall at pool.

When the trivia starts, Zayn’s managed to beat Niall two games to one in pool, grinning victoriously while Niall mumbles about hating leather jackets, quiffs, and skinny Northern lads.  Liam’s downed a pint and a half, working his way through half a buzz because the beer is cheap and a little flat but it’s enough to drag him through a haze.  He almost forgets that Zayn’s spent close to an hour smoking and laughing with Niall instead of cuddled close to Liam in this cluster of noise, Uni kids, shouts at the telly, and decent alcohol.  Almost seems like the proper word.

“Hate your fucking boyfriend, Payne,” Niall mutters behind the lip of his mug.

Liam shrinks a little, Zayn seeming unfazed but maybe he can’t hear Niall through the host’s announcing of the rules or the clanging music – _I’m sorry, but I’m just thinking of the right words to say. I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be._   Either way, blush burns against his cheeks, his teeth worry his lip and he thinks he needs another beer to suffer through Harry’s incessant giggling, Louis’ deep sighing, and Niall’s scowl.

They’re a bit more on than off tonight.  Louis’ only shouting half of the wrong answers – “Wait, what do you mean Pluto isn’t a planet.  I went to fucking junior school.  I know these things.” – and Niall’s trying to concentrate while sipping slowly on a beer, mumbling a few right answers to Harry.  Harry’s deceptively brilliant in the History category – “How is he so brilliant when he’s high _and_ drunk?” Zayn asks Liam.  Liam doesn’t really have an answer for that – while Louis manages to remember more than a few things from science class that prove helpful.  Zayn sails through the English category, Niall getting half the answers right in the television category, and Liam and Louis work together through Sports and Pop Culture – “Who the fuck doesn’t know the names of Madonna’s offspring?  Honestly,” Louis shouts out to a few nameless patrons.

Zayn slinks a hand onto Liam’s shoulder, leaning in to whisper a few of the answers to the Arts questions, grinning against the shell of Liam’s ear as he scribbles down answers before handing them off to one of the waitresses.  They giggle at each other when neither can answer the Politics category, Zayn’s nose brushing against the faint stubble on Liam’s cheek while Liam’s fingers rub absently at Zayn’s thigh.  They ignore the way Niall answers almost every question wrong in the music category – “Cheryl Tweedy is a member of the Spice Girls, yeah?” – and tease each other when Harry and Louis snog their way through the films section, the one category Liam thinks they should ace because Harry’s a fucking film aficionado.

“Who is Sir Paul McCartney,” Zayn whispers to Liam during a question, snickering against his ear.  The heat is soothing, Zayn’s lips brushing against the lobe of Liam’s ear this time.

He thinks it’s the buzz from the beer, the way it works its way through his system like a good drug until his senses dull and he’s not hesitant about slipping a few fingers beneath the hem of Zayn’s shirt – _But if you wait around a while, I’ll make you fall for me. I promise, I promise you I will._ He doesn’t miss the way Zayn’s breathing hitches a little, his own fingers dragging up Liam’s thigh, a tick or two too close to his crotch this time.

“I think the answer is Graham Norton,” Louis notes with a hiss, leaning across the table until Zayn’s stuttering back and Liam’s straightening up, letting his hand linger on Zayn’s thigh.  He catches the way Zayn’s smile turns solid gold and his eyes flicker downward, resting his hand on top of Liam’s.

They’re only slightly behind two other teams – something they all find shocking but only Niall mentions it, the other four grunting their agreement though there’s signs of anticipation and excitement brimming on their faces – when the host announces the final question.  Louis leans in, Harry nearly slumped in the booth in a dizzy haze while Zayn’s fingers pinch into Liam’s thigh.

“This is the decider right here lads and lasses,” the host announces loudly, his cheekiness now dry and a tad offensive.  “It’s worth twenty points and, simply put, the whole bloody thing.”

Liam tries not play it cool, leaning back but his stomach is tight, his fingers are trying to claw into the glossy wood of the table, and he keeps looking around like it’s a race to get the answer first.

“In the comic book _Green Lantern_ , who replaces Hal Jordan as the Green Lantern of Sector 2814 after Hal falls victim to Parallax?”

Zayn and Liam grin at each other immediately, fingers twining beneath the table, and it feels like a summer fog sinking in.  Zayn’s scribbling, Liam’s flagging down a waitress, and Louis grinning like he’s just managed to fuck over the other thirty patrons with an intoxicated boyfriend, a mumbling leprechaun, and two geeks who happen to love fucking comic books.

**

The pub feels all too stuffy with a dizzying heat after their win.  It’s a swift collage of colors, noise, and too much chattering for Liam.  He feels claustrophobic, caged in by all of the smiles and laughter and he’s pushing himself out of the booth quickly, looking ready to vomit for a moment before he’s laughing it off, waving at his mates until their faces settle into something less worrisome.  Zayn’s fingers find his hand before he can get too far away, a minute smile washing over Liam’s lips before he’s nodding at the other boy, dragging him along as they tumble outside into the oh too cold December air with nothing but their jumpers to keep them warm.

Liam sidles up to the side of the brick building when Zayn pulls his pack of smokes out, tapping at the box before pulling one out and fixing it between his lips.  Liam watches the blue spark, the flicker of the flame as Zayn cups his hands over his mouth to hold in the heat long enough to light his cigarette.  It’s a cloud of blue smoke from there, Zayn being cautious to blow the smoke away from Liam, unlike Harry and Niall who would rather Liam sink into those clouds until he feels something other than himself.

Liam leans up against the wall next to Zayn, never bothering to wave off the billowing smoke that still circles around him whenever Zayn takes another drag.  He lets it stiffen around him, swept by a short breeze while they linger in a nice silence.  He loves the way the air clings to his skin like broken pieces of glass, tingling against his fingertips, breaking through the canvas of his Converse until his toes have to wiggle to stay warm.  He watches the passing cars, the way a few of the pub goers stumble out on some high from tequila or bourbon that leaves them off balance and giggling.  There’s the dulled out sound of the music from inside – a little less Coldplay, a little more Kings of Leon now – every time the door swings open and it’s the only sound Liam concentrates on other than the sharp inhales Zayn takes when he has another pull from his cigarette or the echo of their deep breaths amongst the still cold night.

“Louis is right mental, yeah?” Zayn says, a short laugh exhaling out scattered smoke from his mouth.  He sniffs at the air, tipping his head back and the tops of his ears are red from the cold.  “Loads of fun, but right mad.”

Liam turns his head a little, nodding with a childish smile.  “Since I’ve known ‘im.”

Zayn nods, teeth drawing in that bottom lip.  “I always sorted he’d be massive amounts of fun.  Harry’s said so.”

For a brief moment, he wonders what else Harry’s said.  He pushes those thoughts aside to let his smile break like the tide over his face.  He raps his knuckles on the brick wall, the cold surface nearly stinging his skin but he likes the way it dulls the fever on the inside from the alcohol still churning his senses.

“And Harry is quite the bloke, yeah?  Kid’s something else outside of school.  Niall too.  The whole lot,” Zayn says with a pinched laugh, the tip of his cigarette glowing a bright orange as he takes another drag.  He rubs at his lips, hiding a smile that Liam longs for.

“Best mates I’ve had in years,” Liam adds, rubbing at the nape of his neck.  His eyes feel a bit heavy but they’re not wavering from Zayn this time.  They’re watching his every move, the little ticks, the way he’s endless energy again.  It tickles Liam’s stomach in the best way.

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes out, smoke trailing his words.  “Kind of remind me of me lads back home.  Loads of fun.”

“I always thought you’d be loads of fun,” Liam says, wants to chase the words right back into his throat when he thinks about it.  He winces, runs his eyes over Zayn’s face while waiting for Zayn to give him that look that says _‘You’re fucking weird, mate’_ but there’s a smile instead, wide and pushing at Zayn’s cheeks.

Zayn takes a sharp inhale from his cigarette, jerking his head like a nod.  He pushes the leftover smoke out of the side of his mouth, fumbling with a small grin when Liam still looks on edge.  He flicks at his cigarette, ashes falling away and dancing in the swift breeze like wilted gray snowflakes.

“You know, I thought when you asked me out,” Zayn starts, cheeks hollowing as he takes another long drag from his cigarette.  He breathes the smoke out through his nose, snorting.  He waves his hand between them, grinning.  “I thought, y’know, maybe it was for a date or something.  Just like, I don’t know, you and I or something.  Bit silly of me.”

Liam swallows thickly, tries to filter between Zayn’s words and his expression.  He drags his fingers over, the short bristles of his hair, pricking the tips.  Zayn chuckles lowly, fingers at his lips again and, yeah, it was a joke, right?  The idea, the thought of Liam taking Zayn out on a date.  The concept that, past all of the tumbling words and stupid looks, there was something between them.

Liam laughs low and dry, tipping his head back.  He prays it’s that hazy buzz finally crippling him.  He wants to blur the images of Zayn lifting his brow, a hint of concern rimming those brown eyes.  He wants to choke on a laugh, feel the burn in his chest, swallow his own emotions for a second and forget that he even mused over some sort of future with Zayn.

There’s a shuffle of laughter, Harry stumbling into Zayn, Niall wedging himself between them.  His smile seems endless with blonde hair sticking up everywhere while Harry leans heavily on the wall.  Harry’s pulling a joint from the pocket of his plaid shirt, Niall tugging his coat closed with a lopsided grin sparked up on his lips.

“Fuck the night,” Harry says with a mild salute, slipping the neatly rolled joint between his lips.

Zayn’s leaning in with a smirk, flicking his lighter until it catches a flame, cupping his hand over the end of the joint until the paper burns loudly.  Harry takes a deep drag, holding it in for what seems like minutes.  Liam’s seen it all before, the way Harry huffs in those first few puffs like he won’t be taking another hit in a few moments.  He lets it shift through his system, head lolling back until he breathes out the smoke without coughing.  There’s always a slanted grin fixing to his lips afterwards, offering the next hit to whoever reaches out first.

Liam watches Zayn wave it off, putting the filter of his cigarette to his lips while Niall nicks the joint from between Harry’s fingers, taking his own haul.  He’s still clumsy with the pull, choking and thumping his chest with a fleeting smile like he shouldn’t be doing this.  He takes an extra hit because Harry’s mumbling something to Zayn with a giggle and Liam’s watching them rather than Niall for a breath.

The smell is rank, some cheap product that Niall probably bought from one of his customers, and it sticks to the back of Liam’s throat even though he’s not smoking it.  It’s like tar, sticky and thick.  Liam waves a hand around to dust away the clouds, rolling his eyes when Niall’s droop some, cheeks spread wide with a barking laugh like he’s figured out something incredibly funny.  Harry always drags his high out; Niall’s is always immediate and evanescent.

Liam doesn’t pull away when Niall half-hugs him, rattling on about his undying love for Liam while laying sloppy kisses against Liam’s cheeks.  Liam drags the back of his hand over the wet spots, shaking his head with a quiet laugh before politely shoving Niall away.  He steadies Niall against the wall, backing away when Niall takes another short drag from the end of the blunt, puffing out sloppy clouds of smoke while Harry paces around, tries to find little things to snap pictures of.  He’s already gotten three different angles of the stop sign, a couple snogging on the corner, empty shot glasses at the table with licked off salt on the rim and drained limes sitting on the inside.  There’s a photo of Louis making faces, a blurry one of Harry half-sleep on his shoulder – no doubt a pic Louis managed to capture with an unsteady hand – and Niall laughing, openmouthed with bright blue eyes.

Zayn crushes his cigarette with the toe of his boot, edging up to Liam with a smile.  He eases an arm around Liam’s neck, his nose nuzzling into the material of Liam’s jumper for a second before he’s breathing warm breath against Liam’s skin.  It washes over him like the moon over a long stretch of endless ocean.  Zayn’s fingers run the lining of his collarbone, thighs touching.

Instinct gets the best of Liam, his arm slinking around Zayn’s back to keep him close and he sinks into Zayn’s heat, the smile he feels pressed to his neck when Zayn gets close enough rolling a stiff heat through his body.  It suffocates those thoughts in the back of his mind that remind him he’s clinging to something hopeless.  His fingers rub at the small of Zayn’s back – he’s falling and it flickers against his skin like hot embers – as he breathes in the sticking scent of smoke, that sweet layer of orange body wash, Zayn’s cologne almost like cinnamon tonight.

“Don’t move.”  Harry’s focusing his camera, an unsteady hand trying to hold his phone up.  Liam feels Zayn lean further into him, the brush of his nose at Liam’s jaw.  He’s coiled release aching for rescue.

“Hold still,” Harry says, closing one eye like he’s trying to catch it all.

The flash is a little blinding, sparks of bright colors behind Liam’s eyelids every time he shuts them but he can feel Zayn’s grin against his stubble long after Harry lowers his phone.  He unconsciously drags the smooth part of his cheek over Zayn’s scruff, shivers with the way it burns in a horribly satisfying way.

“Me next,” Zayn mumbles, lips dragging over the side of Liam’s face before he’s turning his head, digging his phone out of his back pocket.  He thrusts it at Harry, a sideways grin moving over Harry’s lips before he’s nodding.

Liam tries not to stiffen, Harry pulling back to focus again.  Zayn’s fingers are playing at the nape of his neck, toying with the short hairs there before dragging upward.  Liam tries to hold still – that’s what Harry told him to do, right? – but the white noise in his head is a little too loud and he thinks the kick of the buzz is intensifying rather than dying off.  He thinks that cheap Chester city grown weed Niall bought is heightening everything around him because he can feel Zayn’s other fingers, thin and nimble, sliding between the thick ones Liam has at his side.  He can feel the rough press of Zayn’s lips at the corner of his mouth, dragging a little further until they’re almost kissing.  He can feel the chapped bottom lip, can smell the vodka on Zayn’s breath, something cold and unwilling dying inside of him.

“Oh, this is ace,” Harry says cheerily, snapping off a quick pic before catching another one.  His hand starts to drop away when he grins, winks at Zayn as Zayn moves in a little more and Liam lets out a surprised noise when Zayn’s lips press against his full on.

Their mouths slot together without either one of them putting up much an effort.  Liam can feel the flash behind his eyelids when Harry takes the picture but he doesn’t pay it much attention.  He gives his focus to the way Zayn’s lips feel soft, crushing against his own.  He feels the warmth of Zayn’s hand on the back of his head, preventing him from pulling back when he thinks Harry’s done.  His fingers tighten against the fabric of Zayn’s jumper, pressing into the small of Zayn’s back while his other hand finds Zayn’s hip.  They curl reflexively there, head tipping to the side a little to get a better angle.  His breath stutters with Zayn’s trapped moan, the one that clings to the back of Zayn’s throat when Liam licks at his lips, slides in for a brief moment just to lick at Zayn’s teeth and brush the tip of Zayn’s tongue.

It’s electric blue behind his eyelids, a slow roll of thunder in his ears.  His fingers cup Zayn’s cheek, the stubble scratching at his palm as he lets Zayn suck at his bottom lip for a second.  He wants to push away, ignore the way Zayn slides his hips a little until their groins brush and Liam feels blush feather his cheeks because he’s painfully hard.  He can’t tell if Zayn is, the action far too quick, but he doesn’t care because he knows this isn’t going anywhere.  It’s a small flame dying in the wind and, when Zayn draws back, he tries not to look disappointed.

“For your personal collection?” Harry asks with a snort, pushing the phone into the palm of Zayn’s hand.

Zayn rests his forehead against Liam’s, those long lashes crumpled against his cheeks with his eyes still shut.  He gives a rough attempt at a nod, deep breaths that sound ragged and labored.

Liam’s own breathing goes uneven when Zayn bats his eyes open.  He lets Zayn pull back some, trying not to get sick off of that foul smelling weed that Harry and Niall are finishing up.  The world feels blurred right at the corners but Zayn’s in clear focus.  There’s a smile inking his lips, the ones that are a little red and swollen but still kissable in ways Liam needs to understand before his chest caves in on itself.  That white noise is dulled by the sound of his heart drumming and Zayn’s smiling large enough that Liam can see the pink of his tongue pushed up against his teeth without trying.

“Next time,” Zayn begins and all Liam thinks is _‘next time’_ before he’s exhaling with Zayn, “I wouldn’t mind _you_ kissing _me_.  When you’re sober.”

Liam nods; it’s the only thing he knows to do.  It’s the only thing working through that cramped space in his mind that’s already crowded with thoughts of kissing Zayn again and remembering that he can’t even manage to ask Zayn out for a proper date, let alone work out how to approach him about a kiss.  It’s a thick cloud of murky thoughts that drags him down even though he’s close enough to Zayn that the heat is overwhelming amongst that stiff breeze that has Niall and Harry cuddling together, threatening to leave them behind in this dank weather.

He’s not against the idea; being alone with Zayn.  Unfortunately, he knows he’s not any good with those situations.  It’s a proven fact and Liam’s learned not to argue with such things.

**

Liam doesn’t sleep in.  He doesn’t really have time to because he has an early class every day except for Fridays and, even then, he wakes up early enough to get in a morning run before he’s ducking into the coffee shop or library for some quality study time.  He’s more than a little behind on a few of his classes and chasing after dreams about some silly boy with thick dark hair, long eyelashes, and the kind of smirk you don’t forget no matter how drunk you get doesn’t really help.  Not that he thinks he would, sleep in that is, because he’s always been the type of person who doesn’t want to waste a moment of the day.  He won’t bother climbing in bed, hiding beneath the duvet, kicking his feet up to watch the telly or slumming around on the benches with his mates like he’s without a goal in life.  He’s up early, out late, sinking into every wave of life like tomorrow will be a drought and he’ll be stuck somewhere not knowing what it was to chase after something.

Like stupid boys with shadowy scruff, chapped lips, long fingers, and a petulant need to remind Liam he’s shit at this falling for someone thing.

He doesn’t know what happens between that rough crawl across campus to help Harry to his room, the playful shoves to Niall when he tries to press messy kisses to Liam’s cheek before he stumbles into his own room, or that fleeting moment of sickness when Liam slumps into his own bed with his head hanging low and disappointment sticking to his skin like filthy sweat but he oversleeps.  Not that he a class this early on Friday but he has a _routine_ ; a routine that took him two weeks to master when he first arrived in Chester.  A routine that is thrown off severely by cheap beer, a half-buzz from the fumes of cheap weed, and that dry feeling at the back of his throat from kisses he wants burned from his memory like the crackling paper of Zayn’s stupid cigarettes.

He doesn’t have enough time for a quick jog around the campus, letting the stiff breeze rush over his sweaty skin until he’s hot and cold at once.  Louis’ already sent him three very _un_ friendly reminders about meeting at the coffee shop and he can’t really afford to listen to Louis bitch not only about his need for coffee but also Liam’s tardiness.  Not that Louis was ever on time, but still.  It’s a routine.

There’s a hammering in his head – he doesn’t know why bars settle on selling all of the worst beer off like it’s the best just because they can get it cheaper – and everything inside of him seems to move a half-second slower than it usually does.  He feels sluggish, sore from the way he was curled in his bed half the night, and that dry taste in the back of his mouth was definitely not just from awful beer and tangy weed.

He manages to get a long enough shower that his body feels a tiny bit normal though he still moves achingly slow while toweling off his chest and head.  He doesn’t have time to pick out a proper outfit to wear, though he knows Louis will take a piss at him no matter what he wears so he slides into an _Iron Man_ t-shirt, a pair of joggers, an oversized hoodie that smells like lavender fabric softener and fading cologne before slipping into his trainers.  He snatches up his iPod – the one saving grace about his mornings because it blackens out his thoughts long enough for him to feel at peace – before snatching up his bag and a bottle of water for later.

It’s not a stiff cold like he expects during the beginning of December.  In fact, it doesn’t whip harshly against his skin or leave him wishing he’d slid on that cheap beanie Niall got him from a thrift store.  It’s a calm coolness that evaporates off of his skin when he quickens his pace and only leaves his nose cold, not numb like it would back in Wolverhampton.  It’s the first time he doesn’t miss the way the sky is a little bluer back home because the deep gray, almost silver hue slides nicely against the fluffy white clouds.  He thinks, just maybe, the sun will break through by noon and shimmer against the drying dew to give Harry a real reason to snap off some shots for Instagram today.

Louis is _late_.  Well, even later than Liam which is saying a lot because Liam decided to really take his time getting there.  He ducked behind a few of the buildings on campus, taking a more scenic route where he could pass by that silly fountain in the middle of campus and breathe in the fresh scents from the bakery just on the outside of the University, wishing Harry was at work today so he could nick a few bagels and a biscuit from him for later.

He’s halfway through one of his own playlists – _Let’s pretend I’m the new lover. I’m a stranger not yet discovered_ – when Louis slides in, plopping down at their table with the kind of restlessness that Liam half-expects after last night.  He’s heavy eyes, a curl to his upper lip with mused hair hidden beneath one of Harry’s beanies, a faint shadowing of scruff on his cheeks and chin, the zipper of his hoodie undone to show off his wrinkled striped shirt – another article of clothing that probably belongs to Harry – with dark sweats on.  He’s mumbling a greeting that Liam nods at, sipping on his tea with a small smirk.  Louis rolls his eyes immediately, dragging his knuckles on the shaky table while looking around for Phoebe or maybe Amelia today or any fucking person who can supply him with that tall cup of coffee that will make him just bearable enough for Liam to look at for more than five seconds at a time.

“Don’t worry,” Liam says, his smile twitching wider, “I’ve already ordered it for you.”

“You are a God-send,” Louis sighs out dramatically, hunching over the table to rest a hand over Liam’s.

Liam nods easily, letting a chuckle rumble in his throat.  He taps his fingers on the table to the beat in his head – _A heart is what a heart is; it won’t forget where it came from. And when I walk down the line, I’m walking with you_.  He takes a few liberal glances around as Louis grumbles something about caffeine and swearing off tequila.  The shop’s a bit empty for a Friday, the usual morning rush already drained from the store and it’s nothing but a few Uni students scattered around at tables, in corners, lounging on the small couches with their heads in their books and lips tasting dark coffee.  He chews at his lip, the worst part of him wishing Zayn was in one of those corners with paint drying against his fingertips and Shakespeare, maybe Tennyson in his lap.  He corrals his disappointment when his eyes fail to find that dark hair, wiry frame, and those autumn brown eyes.

“My boyfriend’s quite dodgy,” Louis grunts out, worn blue eyes on the table rather than Liam.  “He can smoke and get pissed half the night and still wake up like he’s had eight hours of sleep.  Niall nearly took my head off when I gave him a ring.”

Liam nods again, laughing lowly this time.

Harry’s something of an enigma, has been since that first year he approached them, wide-eyed and smiling after transferring from that all boys academy back in Chapel Holmes.  He was boyish, intensely happy, glittery green eyes with that slow drag to his speech.  Liam never really understood how he could go on for hours about the most meaningless things and still look fascinated by everything happening around them.  He thinks Louis was probably in love the moment the kid said his name for the first time, all heavy-tongued with that silly dimple.

“Need coffee,” Louis drags out, his whine faint with the words dying off his tongue.

Liam bites at a grin, tipping his head back – _I give what I can get, enough should be enough._   He watches Louis rest his chin on his knuckles, looking impossibly young with a pout pushing over his lips.

“Give it a minute Lou.”

“I’ve given it a _lifetime_.”

“You’ve barely been here half of one.”

“What do you know?  You’re in love with a terribly confused boy,” Louis chides back, rolling his eyes.

Liam tries not to let it sting but a frown tugs at his lips and he knows Louis spots it.  He knows because Louis’ reaching out immediately, looking uncommonly apologetic while rubbing at Liam’s shoulder.  He’s not in the least bit patronizing, fingers curling into the material of Liam’s hoodie while Liam tries to school his expression into something a little more presentable.

“That was shit of me,” Louis admits.  Liam doesn’t disagree, staring blankly at the wall behind Louis.

“Harry’s an awful mate,” Liam says with a put on laugh.  It feels fake, the way it clambers out of his chest.

“Oi, sunshine, it wasn’t like that.  He thinks the world of Zayn.  We all sort of do,” Louis says quickly, rubbing a little more persistently at Liam’s shoulder now.  “He just, Christ, he confuses me Li.  How could you two not be begging the bloody queen to have a wedding at Buckingham Palace by now?  He’s quite daft not to be shagging your brains out every night.”

Liam makes a face, his lips curling into a smile when Louis scoffs.  He knows it’s Louis’ way of being sincere, something he’s rather good at when he puts his mind to it, but it’s a subject Liam’s quite through falling apart over

“Oh, Phoebe warned me about this one.  Is he going on about the shit service here?”

Liam looks up, half-expecting Phoebe or Amelia or some other scrummy Uni girl who hates her job but knows the tips at this dive will be enough to afford her at least one of her books for next term – or some of that pleasantly good shit Harry buys off that one kid – but instead he gets a welcoming smile from Josh.  He’s sliding Louis his coffee, thick arms crossing over his chest when Louis perks up, ripping the lid off and sucking down a good portion of the scalding hot liquid.  There’s a brilliant laughter breaking from Josh’s lips, stocky figure becoming lenient and pliable with swirled brown hair and small eyes wrinkling with each hiccupping giggle.

“You’ve just saved about a dozen freshers from being mutilated,” Louis sighs out, his tongue heavy with the burn from the coffee.  He sinks back into his seat, slouching with a grin.

Josh snorts, nodding.  “Glad I could help save a few newborn puppies.”

“A family of musicians and a probably giraffe too.  I go into these blind rages when I don’t have my caffeine,” Louis insists, taking another liberal gulp of his coffee, wiping the cream from the corners of his mouth.

Liam concurs with a nod, tilting his head back to look on Josh who’s an electrical current of smiles, nervous movements, and a foot dragging on the floor shyly.  He can see why Zayn and Josh work so well – they’re quiet nature is visibly bright.

“Now, Josh-y,” Louis hums out, straightening himself in his chair and Liam pulls back, eyeing Louis because he has that twitch to his mouth that signals nothing good.

Josh winces at the nickname, shuffling his feet again.

“About my mate Niall,” Louis sings out, another sip at his coffee.  “You fancy him, yeah?”

“Um.”  Josh looks wired, caged and fearful at once.

“You think he’s fit, yeah?” Louis offers, his tongue licking cream from his lips.

“Well – “

“I mean, you’d let him suck you off, right?”

Josh’s eyes are wide, his breathing a bit erratic.  Liam sips at his tea as to not tell Louis to shut the fuck up.  Or laugh manically at Josh, either way.

“You’d consider shagging him, huh?  At least going on a proper date with him, right?  I mean, he does fancy _you_ ,” Louis says, kicking a foot onto one of the empty chairs on either side of the table.  He cocks an eyebrow up while Josh stammers for a second, waving Josh off with a grin.  The kid never had a chance.

“Lou,” Liam hisses softly, nudging Louis’ foot underneath the table.

Louis rolls his eyes expectantly, pursing his lips.  “What I mean to say is… do you think, quite possibly, you have just a hint of interest in my dear mate?”

There’s a nice sheen of sweat glowing against Josh’s forehead, his jaw tense, and the muscles in his arm are strained from hugging himself a little too tightly.

“Yes.”

“Figured,” Louis says with a grin that’s far too wide to be innocent and friendly.

Josh nods, looking like he doesn’t quite understand what has just happened.  He blinks at Louis, tongue wetting dry lips, and Liam stifles a laugh because the guy really does look like he’s just survived some sort of horrific natural disaster.  He’s seen stronger men, and women, cower at Louis or run away in horror.  To say he’s impressed would be an understatement.

Liam sputters a laugh when Josh spins around and stumbles off.  He’s kicking Louis’ shin beneath the table, holding tightly onto a chuckle.  Louis looks unfazed, sipping slowly on his coffee, and Liam knows there’s a wide smirk hiding behind that damn Styrofoam cup.  He doesn’t press Louis about it because, honestly, what Louis does _is_ effective despite how much the point troubles Liam.

His tea is warm, nearing cold when it rushes across his tongue.  He runs his thumb over the lip of his cup as he lowers it, the damp breeze of the air outside anchoring in his heat when a few giggling University girls clatter in.  He chews at his thumb, watching the way Louis smiles warmly at a few classmates, dopily polite and Liam knows it’s nothing but the kick of the coffee that’s making him slightly more reasonable than usual.  Louis makes a face at one of the guys and, yeah, only _slightly_ more reasonable.

Liam chews at his thumbnail for a second, thoughtful while looking at Louis before blurting out, “What makes it work for you?”

Louis sips patiently at his coffee, arching an eyebrow.  “Meaning?”

Liam leans back, his hand hot against the nape of his neck as he rubs it slowly.

“You and Harry,” Liam says, flippantly waving a hand around.  “You’re _different_.  You’re, um, odd.  But you make things work.  From the beginning, it’s just worked.”

Louis nods slowly like he’s taking it all in, narrowing pale blue eyes to study Liam until Liam feels himself unsettled, shifting in his seat.  There’s another slurp of coffee, a satisfying hum before Louis’ lowering his cup and folding his hands, one on top of the other, on the shaky table.  His face stills, lips pressed firmly together and Liam wonders how long he’ll have to wait until Louis makes him feel like a complete idiot for even bothering to ask.

“Upper Sixth Form, in the fall,” Louis starts, his voice a stern softness that flows with pure honesty.  He pushes his beanie back a little, toying with the fringe before adding, “It was late and you’d already gone home for the day.  You and your damn curfew.  We were down at that park, you know the one about a few roads from the school?”

Liam nods, chewing on his lip while the music from behind the counter slides in – _Never thought that I would grow so old from seeing the gold. Still I never wanted it to go_.

Louis clears this throat before continuing, “I was down there, in the cold, with Andy and Greg, a couple of the other guys from the team.  We were just pissing about with the ball, laughing and pretending not to notice the world.  Just the lights of the city in the background like some stupid set of stars down on earth.

“He was there, fucking curly hair underneath one of those stupid beanies,” Louis pauses, rubs fondly at the beanie on his head, “In fucking shorts with his socks pulled all the way up and some cleats.  He was with one of his friends, that Calum kid that I never really chatted with.”

Liam remembers him.  Nice guy, really.  He was genuine if not a bit quiet sometimes, always clinging to a few of his stoner buds like Ashton and Luke whom Liam had a few classes with but, again, didn’t really spend massive amounts of time communicating with – _I would hold it up to my cold heart. Feel the way it used to start up._

“This skinny guy, with no coordination, kept trying to do keepie uppies with the ball, in his own little world.  Fuck Li, he wasn’t even one of the sports.  He didn’t have a crowd, no one except you and me, which was pretty pathetic because we were kind of shit to him in the beginning,” Louis drawls out, rubbing at his chin but there’s a smile trying to push at his lips like he’s still back there, in that park, the damp cold sticking to him like a second jumper.

Liam bites down on his lip – _Take me back to the way that I was_ _before_ – while his fingers draw mindless shapes over the table.  It wasn’t intentional, the way they were with Harry.  There had never really been anyone else besides him and Louis.  Eleanor was an afterthought because she grew up with them and she only fit because of the endless years of she and Louis pretending to know what puppy love really meant.  Andy and Greg were just fixtures in the background, a prerequisite just in case he or Louis were too busy to entertain the other.  But then there was Harry: endless sunshine and amusing looks that sort of frightened them in a calming way.  He was a different dynamic with the way he hung on Louis’ every word or the way he could make Liam feel important amongst a river of kids who were slaves to stereotypes and bullying the weak.

“I couldn’t look away.  Trust me, I _tried_.” Louis sounds a bit desperate, taking a quick gulp of his coffee before a smile finally perches on his lips – _Hungry for what was to come. Now I’m longing for the way I was._ He’s sighing lowly, his thumb running over his bottom lip like Harry does when he’s thinking of the right words to speak.

“I sat there for hours after the others left.  I kicked the ball around with him, watched him try to impress me with the little things he picked up on.  He laughed like the fucking world was ending tomorrow and, fuck, I just didn’t get it,” Louis says, his voice stiffening a little like it burns.  His fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, eyes sliding shut for a brief moment.  “He kissed me with those damn stars in the background.  He told me he couldn’t stop thinking about me and I thought he was an idiot.”

There’s a chuckle behind Louis words and Liam can’t help the way the hollow inside of him fills with heat, Harry and Louis crowding into that open space like they always do.  It was a delayed jealousy, the way he envied them because the initial feelings were always pride and genuine happiness for his mates.

Louis sucks in a breath – _Say you will, say you will save me_ – before his eyes flutter open.  “I love him because I _want_ to, not because I _need_ to.”

Liam swallows, reaches for his tea but he knows it’s too cold now.  Still, he clings to that cup out of comfort.  He drags his teeth over his lip, clings to it for a moment like he’s seen Zayn do – _Give it up to me ‘cause I can’t go on if your love isn’t strong_ – and it sinks down into that empty space like molasses.

“My sweet Liam, we work because we don’t expect anything from each other.  We are, to quote that silly song, who we are,” Louis says, his smile thicker now.  “Harry’s nothing like the person I pictured myself falling in love with and that works.  He’s just Harry; some stupid boy I fall in love with almost every single day.  Silly, yes, but it’s what makes things simple.”

Liam fumbles with a grin, circling the rim of his cup with his index finger – _If you can’t hold on, then baby, don’t save me_.  _It works_ , he thinks, cheeks rounding with a smile that’s nearly identical to Louis’.

“Now, if that bloke you fancy so much doesn’t see how brilliant you are, then stop _expecting_ him to,” Louis declares, his chin lifted haughtily.  There’s a defiant smirk on his lips as he adds, “Stop thinking it’s _supposed_ to work a certain way.  Just let it be.”

“I don’t know Lou.”

“Fucking hell, Li.  What, are you going to wait until your cock falls off for this chap?”

Liam makes a face, head shaking.  “No, I – “

“You _what_?”

“I just hope he’s interested,” Liam says lowly, the words a razor shard of glass against his tongue.

“Hope is a shit storm waiting to happen,” Louis says with a grin.

There’s a throat clearing, Liam startled while Louis glances past him to where Josh is standing over them.  There’s a stillness to his face and Liam, fuck, Liam _knows_ he’s heard it all.  Maybe not the Harry part, but definitely the Zayn part.  The Zayn who is one of Josh’s mates, who probably thinks Liam is a complete arse and not in the least bit deserving of anything Zayn has to give.  He wonders if he could handle all Zayn had to give – _All my life I wasn’t trying to get on a highway. I was wondering which way to go._

“The lad _is_ interested, Liam.  He fancies you loads,” Josh says, his voice a rippling mixture of sternness and sweet friendliness that always clings to Josh’s tone.  His jaw flexes, arms folded over his chest again like he’s being protective of someone that’s not there and Liam gets it; he understands.

He doesn’t know why the words rush over him like the warmth of an open fire.  The hair at the nape of his neck stands up, cool sedation rustling over his bones and he tries to remember how to breathe like a normal person for a few beats.

“Zayn never makes the first move.  He never kisses first,” Josh adds, those brown eyes softening around the edges.  “He doesn’t want anyone to ever feel like he’s interested, which is a daft move, but it works for him.  He doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings when the feeling isn’t mutual.  Some silly romantic.”

Josh huffs out a laugh, one that Louis echoes until Josh gives him a look and suddenly Louis looks small and curled into himself like a child being scolded by a teacher.  Liam’s impressed, fingers itching to reach out and pat Josh’s hip in some form of approval.

“He wants it to be mutual, Liam.  The chap’s not stupid, you know.  He’s sticking around because he _likes_ you,” Josh notes, his tone cold again.  It unnerves Liam for more than a breath.  “He thinks you’re unsure and, if you are, he’s not going to stay around for long.  It’s not in his nature.”

Liam nods, sucking in his bottom lip.  He feels like a kid caught in a lie, waiting for his punishment – _Spending all of my damn time; leaving all of the weight behind you_.

Josh nods stiffly back at him, half-turning to move back toward the counter.  Something like a smile slides over his lips before he whispers, “He doesn’t make the first move, Liam.  He doesn’t kiss anyone first but he did.  For you, Liam, he did.”

He’s gone in a quick stride, his head hanging low like he’s said too much and, Liam thinks, he hasn’t.  He’s said just enough for Liam to come undone, swallowing at cold tea just to rid his mouth of that cottony feeling.  There’s a dull throb to his head, his stomach turning over and over while Louis watches him with wide eyes.  There’s a dizziness, fevered hot stickiness to his skin that makes him feel clammy and ready to sink under a pile of sheets.  And everything is moving too, too quickly in a flash of lights too bright, feelings too prickly, an emptiness too void of things to fill it with.

“Oi, you lads look like I feel,” Niall says, sliding down into the empty seat next to Liam.

Liam looks up, blinking at Niall while Louis nods, eyes shifting between his cup and Liam in a discreet manner that Liam picks up on.  He’s on edge, cautious like he knows saying the wrong thing will sink Liam further into this lovely hell he’s created for himself.  He’s thankful, doesn’t express it, but he’s certain Louis picks up on it by the way he simply leans back and tries to push out a smile for Niall.

“Remind me not to get shitfaced with you lot for at least two weeks,” Niall drags out, snatching away Louis’ cup and downing the rest of it before Louis has a chance to complain.  There’s a swift kick that rattles the table though and Niall’s teeth sink into the soft material of the cup, flipping Louis off immediately.  Louis grins back smugly.

Liam smirks, rubbing at the end of his nose before shrugging when Niall gives him a contemplative look.  Niall waves it off but Liam spots the unease that rounds the edges of his eyes and, yeah, it’s all too obvious now.  He’s shit at hiding it but his friends give him the courtesy of sinking slowly into his thoughts without taking a piss at him about it all.

“I need a good plate of fish and chips and then a yummy slice of pie,” Niall says, grinning brightly.  He pounds his fists on the table, the rattle nearly tipping Liam’s cup off of the surface.

Louis balks at him while Liam laughs, a genuine cackle that starts at his chest and echoes outward.

“What happened to the diet?” Louis asks, his voice shrill and loud.

Niall shrugs uncaringly.  “Changed my mind.”

“Changed your mind,” Louis says back, slowly with a deliberate stroke to every word.

Niall nods, again, looking completely unaffected by it all.  He fiddles with that silly snapback on his head – his collection is rather immense as Liam never sees him with the same one on twice, a feat that’s fairly amazing since he’s worn one nearly every day since they’d met – before tapping pale fingers along the edge of the table.

“Going to give yoga a try,” Niall says, his tone lifted with his grin.

“Yoga,” Louis deadpans, his mouth falling slack.

_Of course_ , Liam thinks, grinning behind his knuckles.

“The instructor is hot,” Niall tells him, a sleek darkness glazing the blue in his eyes.  “Think Josh will like yoga?”

Louis shrugs, Liam does too, and Niall nods at them, his grin still thick and wide on his lips.  Liam’s certain Niall will find out, whether they know about it or not.

“This is all a part of your healthy lifestyle, yeah?” Louis wonders, tilting his head at Niall.

Niall nods, fiddling with the sleeve of his Henley.  The collar dips low, all that pale skin exposed.  It’s always a dull contrast; that pastel skin against neon bright blonde hair with starlight blue eyes and Niall’s all bright, bright personality that blinds everyone along with all of his features.  Liam wonders if Niall ever notices how intense he burns, even when he’s not trying.

“Giving up weed?” Louis asks, his tone a bit careless.

“Fuck no,” Niall spits out, the words not stiff like they should be but they’re emphasized by the way his brow drops and the curl of his lips.  It doesn’t last long, neon glow to his smile again before he adds, “Weed and Zen fit smashingly together.”

Of course.

**

His nerves have been getting the best of him for twenty minutes now.  He’s second-guessing himself, shifting from foot to foot.  It’s that feeling, the haunting one like whether to drink the overly sweet drink or take the plunge and drink the stiff one.  It’s a sharp feeling like the acid from a lemon scrapping the lining of your throat.  He’s peeking over his shoulder every other second and this all feels too planned out, a bad plot out of an awful film that Harry would probably make him watch because Harry is a sucker for things like this.

He smirks to himself because, yeah, Harry was the one who helped him draw this plan together; Louis and Niall too.  This plan that feels stupid now, mind-numbingly daft, and he should really just call it all off.  He doesn’t have the bullocks to do it though – and he honestly doesn’t feel like hearing Louis whine at him for hours about it later if he does – so he hugs himself a little tighter outside of the pizza café until the sting of the cold starts to fade off.

It’s a week before the holiday break.  The air has shifted from that nice comforting cold to something full on and brittle.  He thinks maybe he can blame the change in the weather or the way they have to get up extra early to make it to the coffee shop before classes because the walk is much slower now, all stiff bones and pink cheeks just for something to warm them up for too few of moments.  Maybe it’s the time he actually asks Harry to fucking Google the word _‘courage’_ for him – “Seriously, Li?  I’m high off my arse right now and you want me to remember how to work Goggle?”  Liam doesn’t want to remind him he can upload a picture, tag it, and add numerous, meaningless hashtags to it without a single hiccup while high _and_ drunk but can’t seem to fucking work Google when burning off a high from that cheap shit Niall rolled earlier. – that has him feeling bolder than he ever has.

It’s like a shot of top shelf liquor, the way everything singes through his blood stream and he thinks he can do this.  He can.  He’s been telling himself that for an hour, little glances from Niall and Louis waning that feeling just a little, but his resolve won’t give.

The tops of his ears burn a bright red hue, hands cupped over his mouth to breathe hot breath against his skin, and he tries not to shiver when the first few feathery snowflakes start to twirl from that purplish sky above.  He sniffles lowly, biting at his already raw lip, and he wishes he had slid into something a little thicker than this charcoal cardigan, maroon Henley beneath, and dark jeans that hang low on his hips.  He’s thankful that at least Louis hasn’t given him shit about his choice in clothing and he could easily slip back into the café to slide on his thick pullover from earlier.  He rests on the heels of his Converse instead, rubbing at the prickly hairs on his head before chewing into a smile when he spots the lone figure beneath the pale streetlamps moving toward him.

The moon streaks a pale fluff of light over Zayn when he’s a few steps away from Liam, the silver glow stroking those accented cheeks, running over the faint scruff.  Zayn’s hands are shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, wiry frame in tight, black jeans and some artful t-shirt that slung low around the collar.  His teeth worry that bottom lip almost red, flakes of snow shining like specks of glitter in that tall quiff.  It looks softer than normal, something Liam’s tempted to test but doesn’t.

Zayn blinks at him for a moment, snowflakes sticking to his lashes.  There’s something guarded yet soft about his stance, all of that endless energy contained.  The air around him is stiff with that scent of cigarettes but the cologne is a little more pronounced tonight, tickling Liam’s senses.  He wants to take those few steps to close the gap, surround himself in that sticky nicotine scent until he can’t wash it out.  He wants to drag his nose over the skin of Zayn’s neck, dance his lips over that collarbone, etch each curling tattoo with the tip of his tongue until he has the feeling of Zayn’s skin memorized.

“Hey,” Liam says, his voice small.

“Hey.”

Liam watches him, the way he remains still but there’s something easing just at the edges.  There’s a warmth hidden beneath Zayn’s stiffness, the corners of his mouth daring to betray him with a smile.  It drags like Liam’s foot across the sidewalk.

“I’m glad you came,” Liam says, words caught in a tinny laugh.

Zayn nods, the flame struck when a smile creases his lips.  “Glad you asked.”

Liam barely remembers the words, the text he sent somewhere between classes that day.  Something probably littered with bad grammar and autocorrect issues but his thumb moved in a blur, nerves nearly crippling him.  He bites on a smile when he thinks about the response, – _just you and me ;) xx_ – his heart still clicking two beats too fast.

“It’s cold,” Liam says for lack of anything more creative to say.

The words pull a snicker from Zayn, a small nod as Zayn pulls his leather jacket closed.  The scruff of the sole of his shoe against the asphalt does little to distract Liam from trying to search through the pinwheel of colors in Zayn’s eyes to figure out if they’re hazel or brown.  He barely hears Zayn clear his throat, too busy watching the way that tongue snakes over dry lips, teeth catching just the edge of that bottom lip for a second.  He’s reigning in his breathing, running eyes over the column of Zayn’s throat, thoughts of decorating it with small bruises that’ll remind Zayn his intentions, his unspoken need for Zayn to remember him.

“We should go inside,” Liam says suddenly, startled from his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Zayn laughs out, a sparse glow of pink to his cheeks.  He’s not sure if it’s the cold or blush but Liam thinks he wouldn’t mind figuring it out.

“Wouldn’t want you catching a cold,” Liam adds, words clouded with small breaths of laughter.

Zayn nods, teeth finding his bottom lip again.  Those flakes of snow shimmer over his skin, melting immediately.

“I mean, I’d hate for your parents to completely hate the poor lad back here who sent their son home with the flu,” Liam stutters out, ducking his head.  He bites at his own lip, a little more purposeful because he feels like an idiot for thinking Zayn would ever mention Liam to his family.

“Not that you would go back and – “

“Liam,” Zayn says, his voice a little stiff.  He drags it out – _“Lee-yum”_ – and Liam wonders, for just a second, how it would sound with Liam thrusting inside of Zayn with his name sliding off of Zayn’s tongue.

“Right.”

“Inside, Liam.”

Liam nods, fumbling a smirk that Zayn eventually returns.

“Inside, now.  Us.”

Liam turns, his heart still barreling to its own uncoordinated rhythm – _Your heart beats for another day. I still believe you love me in a different way_ – as he reaches for the door.  Long, nimble fingers wrap around his wrist, small nails digging into his skin.  He glances over his shoulder, Zayn pressed to his back, that heat scalding.  He can almost taste Zayn’s last cigarette on his tongue, a flicker of concern slow burning in Zayn’s eyes.

“This is a date, yeah?” Zayn asks, the question gripped by his gravelly voice.

Liam blinks at him, eyes on those lips that are spit-slick and soft.

“It’s a date.”

Zayn nods at him, the hold he has on Liam’s wrist loosening, just slightly.  He takes an extra breath, those cheeks hollowing – _When night falls, the city lay asleep. Among the crowds, we both know you’re my only dream._

“Just you and me,” Zayn adds, his tone a shade softer.

Liam swallows slowly.  “You and me.”

Zayn nods again, those fingertips stroking gently against the inside of Liam’s wrist.  They’re warm, leaving behind streaks of heat against the pulse in Liam’s veins.  Those long lashes bat away thicker drops of snow, a honey river of safety.  He’s breathing deep breaths, drawing Liam in and, if not for that sharp breeze that strikes against their backsides, Liam thinks they could stand there for hours; no words needed.  Just their uneven breaths, fingers moving like living artwork, and eyes never finding anything more entrancing than each other.

The café has been closed for nearly two hours, the tables wiped down with almost all of the chairs turned upside down on the table tops.  The stools near the end of the bar are also laying on top of its flat surface, a lemony scent from the cleaner they use to wipe everything down dancing next to the thick aroma of dough, cheese, tomato sauce, and all of the blessed toppings that are used to decorate the pizzas.  The place is draped in thick shadows, scraps of light from the moon filtering in through the large window near the door with small tealight candles scattered across the floor and on a few of the tables.  They glow like bright orange stars, flames flickering against the shift in the air.

There’s a single table not cleared off in the center of the café, the chairs pulled out with a few candles circling it.  It’s a little ridiculous with the candles, the linen tablecloth on the circular table with two empty wine glasses, plates, and a tray of pizza sitting next to it.  He had left Harry in charge of decorating the place, which is probably why it looks like something out of that last scene from S _ixteen Candles_.  Liam snorts to himself because Zayn has that Jake Ryan appeal with his untouchable exterior, something pure and genuine buried underneath all of that hair, smoldering looks, and smoke-thick rasp in his voice.

There’s a touch of Louis’ handiwork in there: the slow, soft music playing just beneath the sound of Zayn’s heavy breathing.  Liam is still a bit surprised by Niall’s charm, the way he convinced that small Italian couple to let him borrow the café for the night – “They couldn’t resist me charisma.  I’ve been Employee of the Month for the past _three_ months.  And I’m Irish,” Niall had said, all with a self-righteous smile that Liam’s certain Louis taught him.  And he didn’t expect Harry and Louis to get so involved with this silly idea Liam had of, for once, ensuring Zayn knew that he was interested.  He was making the first move.  He was trying to make this as important for Zayn as it was for him.

The pop of a metal caps draw Liam’s attention to behind the counter, Niall’s day-glow pale skin haloed in a soft orange as he moves through the shadows.  He scurries from behind the counter, grinning widely before settling two bottled Cokes on the table, fixing the cloth napkins – another one of Louis’ touches – while offering them a small wave with a few of his fingers.

“Oi, I thought I had a little more time.  Sorry,” Niall says quickly, the grin in his voice sliding happily along the words.  “Lou swore he was going to hold you two up so I could finish up.”

Liam feels Zayn tense up next to him, watching him from the corner of his eye as a frown pulls at his pink lips.  He lets a few of his fingers graze over Zayn’s, small touches that he hopes subsides the disappointment licking over Zayn’s face.  Zayn’s fingers push back, his index finger hooking around Liam’s and Liam tries to swallow back the smile itching against his lips.

Niall grins at them, blue eyes flickering between their faces and their hands.  He crosses his arms over his chest, looking thoroughly chuffed as if he did this, all of this.

“Right, well the pizza is still hot.  That flaky, apple pastry thing you asked Harry to get is staying warm in the oven,” Niall tells them, easing from around the table.  He stumbles around a few of the candles – _classic Niall_ – with a wavering smile.  “Oh, and Lou left some lube and a box of condoms behind the counter as a, well, _gift_.  You know Lou.  But no sex on the tables because I’m not cleaning them again in the morning.”

Liam seizes in a breath, Zayn gaping at Niall and Niall shrugs with a laugh – again, _classic Niall_.

“Lock up when you finish, yeah Li?” Niall requests, digging into the pockets of his jeans before freeing a set of keys, tossing them to Liam who catches them with one hand.  Niall clears his throat, tugging on his coat before adding, “I’ve got a date with a couple of idiots, a beautifully rolled joint, and a brilliantly fit chap who plays the drums.”

Liam stifles a laugh when Niall passes him, patting at Liam’s shoulder before winking at Zayn.  Liam mouths his appreciation, Niall nodding contently before raising his brow at Liam.  It’s a warning not to muck it up and Liam takes it without resistance.  He feels the stiff kick of the cold against the back of his neck when Niall shoulders through the door, watching a few of the dancing flames on the candles burn out while the others sway to and fro like falling stars.

The light feels dim, crisp in its intent but it’s just a halo across the café.  The music rocks gently against his eardrums – _Wise men say, ‘Only fools rush in’ but I can’t help falling in love with you_ – as he turns to look at Zayn.  Those teeth are gnawing incessantly at that bottom lip, eyes flicking over every corner of the café like he doesn’t know what else to expect; like he wasn’t expecting _any_ of this.  He rocks on his heels, his breathing a touch deeper than the music surrounding them and, just below the glint of the light, he looks genuinely confused and awe-stricken.

Liam curls a few more fingers around Zayn’s, feels Zayn shake and startle.  He grins, deep and rich, nudging Zayn’s shoulder with his until those eyes find Liam’s again.  They’re an amber-gold, scattered thoughts almost readable against the frame created by his eyelashes.  Liam decides against letting his expression waver Liam’s fortitude.  He’s a man wadding in the ocean, determined to find his way home.  And Zayn feels like home.

Liam leans in a little, all of his fingers fitting between Zayn’s now until he’s gripping Zayn’s hand.  He swallows slowly, waits until Zayn’s caged look turns soft, trusting.  It thickens Liam’s smile, the rattle of his heart like palms against a pair of bongos, making his blood hot and his fervor furious – _Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?_

“Just you and me,” Liam whispers, the corners of his mouth drawing higher.

Zayn blinks, once, twice, _five_ times before he’s smiling quietly.  His teeth sink against the flesh of his lip, nodding slowly.

“You and me?”

“You and me,” Liam repeats, close enough that his nose brushes lightly against Zayn’s.  It tickles a laugh from Zayn’s lips, soft breath soaked in cigarette smoke and something minty like fresh toothpaste.

Liam pulls back, the corners of Zayn’s eyes still crinkled from his laugh.  He pockets the keys that have been biting into the skin of his palm, tightens his grip on Zayn’s hand before jerking his head in the direction of the table.  There’s a silent question of permission in his expression that Zayn nods at, laughing softly when Liam’s own eyes crinkle with a grin.  They’re brushing shoulders, swaying on their heels for a moment and, once more, Liam thinks they could just stand there for hours, caught in their own foolish refusal to admit aloud that this is all they need.  This is all they’ve ever really needed.

Liam refuses to sit across from Zayn at the table, dragging the wooden legs across the carpeted floor until he’s plopping down next to Zayn.  He toes off his shoes, a hand in Zayn’s lap as Zayn slowly does the same, a smile breaking over Liam’s lips and leaving his cheeks aching.  He helps Zayn out of his jacket, draping it on the back of his own chair.  Zayn settles back against his chair, coyly leaning closer to Liam like he needs Liam’s warmth, the scent of that body spray Liam’s wearing, or just the kiss that Liam finds himself placing at the corner of Zayn’s mouth because it’s what he’s wanted to do the moment the moon’s light creased over the features of Zayn’s face – _Oh, but I can’t help falling in love with you_.

Zayn is nothing but soft eyes, a wide mouth that shows nothing but white teeth when he laughs, careful little sweeps of his hand over Liam’s shoulder, down and over his neck, pushing at Liam’s chest when one of Liam’s jokes actually is funny.  He’s muffled laughs against Liam’s shoulder, a shy pull of his words when Liam looks him in the eyes, fingertips tiptoeing over the back of Liam’s hand when they whisper about things that Liam will never remember, but he’ll remember the way those fingers leave behind invisible prints all over his skin – _Some things are meant to be_.  He’ll remember the way Zayn leans in, never too close, to giggle at Liam when he makes a face.  He’ll remember the crinkle of Zayn’s nose when he smiles big, the way his features turn quiet and thoughtful when Liam talks about going home in a few days like it’s the one conversation neither of them wanted to discuss.

“You can call me,” Zayn whispers, ducking his head when a grin pushes foolishly against Liam’s cheeks.  “Text too.”

“Every day?” Liam tries not to sound earnest but he’s failing.  Fuck, he knows he is.

Zayn smirks, teeth gripping his lip.  “All the time.  Whenever you want.”

“You’ll get bored with me,” Liam teases, but he’s only half-joking.

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

Zayn snorts, nodding.  “I promise.  All the time, babe.  Whenever you want.”

Liam’s cheeks burn quickly, a bright crimson color that most likely looks deep burgundy against the shadows.  He squeezes at Zayn’s thigh, his thumb stroking the inside of Zayn’s leg.  Zayn tightens his hand over Liam’s and the silence sweeps in so easily, smiles settled in and irremovable.

It feels silly, the way they feed each other pizza, Zayn stealing sips of Liam’s Coke even though his is not even halfway done.  His eyes crinkle again, his smile honest and real like the cascade of light from a fully born sunrise.  He lifts a thumb, drags it on the corner of Liam’s mouth to wipe away sauce before taking it into his own mouth, sucking away the red with a blushing smirk.  Liam pretends not to want to take Zayn’s other fingers between his lips to lick away the dusting of garlic and oil.

“Harry and the lads are thinking about going to London for the New Year,” Liam says while sipping at his Coke, Zayn toying with a fresh slice of pizza.  “You know, give it a real go before we have to come back to our studies.  Get fantastically pissed on champagne and whatever else we can find.  Lay around the city for a few days, take it all in.”

Zayn nods, leaning into Liam.  His back presses to Liam’s chest, Liam’s arm immediately sliding around Zayn’s small frame.  He rests his hand flat on Zayn’s chest, fingers throbbing with the beat of Zayn’s heart – _So won’t you please take my hand and take my whole life too._   He nuzzles his nose to the shell of Zayn’s ear, the world burning away beneath the flames of the candles.

“Sort of a brotherhood thing, yeah?”

Liam nods though he knows Zayn can’t see it.  His mouth drag over Zayn’s ear, the smile on own his lips ticking higher when Zayn shivers against him.

“I’m sure Niall wants Josh to come along,” Liam adds, drawing out the length of his words.

“I’m sure.”

“I want you there,” Liam whispers like it’s a secret.  He says it like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear even though it’s still just the two of them, blanketed by shadows and wavering orange light.

“You do?” Zayn asks.  Liam can hear the way Zayn’s trying to disguise his interest.  He laughs at it, resting his chin on Zayn’s shoulder.

“I do.”

“The boys and us, huh.”

“And then you and I at night.  In the same bed.  Alone.”

“Alone,” Zayn whispers back, a dreamy smile fitting against his lips.

“If you want that,” Liam offers, trying not to be too forward but he doesn’t know how not to be with an arm around Zayn, Zayn’s hand stroking over his thigh, and his own lips nudging at pieces of Zayn’s face, the scrape of his scruff burning Liam’s mouth.

“You and me?  Alone?” Zayn asks, leaning his head further back with his eyes on the ceiling.  “Or the you and I in the same bed part?”

Liam chokes on an inhale, plays it off by clearing his throat.  Either way, his cheeks burn pink.

“Both.”

Zayn hums, his hand inching inward, so close to Liam’s crotch that Liam thinks Zayn can feel the heat from his erection.

“Both,” Zayn repeats, his voice decidedly low and caramelized.  “I want _both_.”

Liam nods again, a shaky breath trembling from his chest.  He thinks he can feel Zayn’s heart beat a little harder, a little louder – _‘cause I can’t help falling in love, in love with you_ – but he doesn’t say anything.  He presses a nervous kiss to the side of Zayn’s neck, lips remaining to feel the pulse and the moan that waits at the back of Zayn’s throat.

They slide through chats while a few of the flames start to burn out around them, wax melted down to the ends of the wick, everything still moving lazily slow.  They whisper about sports – “I like footie, alright.  My baba is a massive Manchester United fan.  Goes to a few games through the season,” Zayn tells him, Liam grinning and holding back his need to tell Zayn West Bromwich is far superior – and Zayn grins tightly when Liam goes on about Harry teaching him to cook – “There was flour and peanut butter everywhere and I still don’t know where peanut butter was at in the recipe.”

“Meagan Fox,” Zayn blurts out, snuggling his head against Liam’s shoulder while Liam sips at Zayn’s Coke.

“Your first proper crush was on the girl from _Transformers_?” Liam asks, nearly choking on a laugh.

Zayn elbows him, grinning widely.  “Oh, you’re one to talk.  Yours was on Mary fucking Poppins.”

“I can’t help that the thought of a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down gave me a stiffy,” Liam counters, cheeks flushed.  He snorts when Zayn makes a face, pressing a brief kiss to Zayn’s forehead.  “I think it was Anne Hathaway though.  She was a bit naughty.”

“You’re mad.”

“What?” Liam squeaks out, trying to settle his laughter.  Zayn’s echoes against his ears, the smaller boy squirming in Liam’s arms.  “Oh, come off it.  She was fit in _the Devil Wears Prada_.”

“I can’t believe you saw that.”

“I can’t believe you’re pretending you didn’t.”

“Nutted off to her, did ya?  Oi, did you figure out how to properly wank off when you were fifteen or something?” Zayn teases him, shaking through another laugh when Liam’s fingers tickle up his ribs.

“ _Thirteen_ , thank you,” Liam says roughly, rubbing the end of his nose to Zayn’s cheek, forcing a sloppy kiss there.  “And we both know you popped a willy when she was Selina Kyle.”

Tints of pink and red kiss over Zayn’s cheeks, his teeth nipping at his lip.  “Maybe.  Think I was too busy learning how to give a proper blowjob by then.”

Liam chokes on his swallow of Coke, pulling back from Zayn while shooting him an incredulous look.

Zayn shrugs it off, cuddling closer to Liam again and Liam has to reach between them to adjust himself, the strain of his cock pushing a little too roughly at the zipper of his jeans.  He doesn’t ignore the quiet chuckle Zayn lets out, the way he scoots back until the small of his back is conveniently pushing at the bulge in Liam’s trousers.

When Liam finds his way back to his chair after pulling that crisp, hot pastry from the oven, he doesn’t flinch when Zayn stands to slide into his lap.  He chuckles at the movement, the way Zayn’s a bit hesitant about putting his full weight on Liam like he can’t handle it.  His eyes keep scanning Liam’s face, teeth pulling at his bottom lip, glancing back to that now empty chair like he should slide back into it.  There’s a warm flush of blush along his cheeks that Liam wants to kiss, feel its heat right along the edges of his lips.

Liam settles a hand on the small of Zayn’s back, pulls him further in until Zayn’s straddling his thighs, facing Liam with a twisted grin on his lips.  Liam smiles back, full and pleased, digging a fork into the pastry before offering some to Zayn.  Zayn leans in hesitantly, his tongue snaking out to test the temperature before he’s scraping it off the fork with his teeth.  His grin is summer sun sticky, nodding his approval to Liam, who’s holding in a laugh because, fuck, Zayn’s actually rather endearing like this.

It feels natural, like this.  Zayn’s scooted closer, sitting high up on Liam’s thighs.  His fingers drag lethargically over the back of Liam’s head, tickled by the bristles of Liam’s hair.  Liam feeds him, feeds himself, chews around a few conversations about films, books, stupid things like childhood dreams.  Each one of Zayn’s laughs stick to Liam’s stomach, pooling it with warmth when those eyes crinkle and that mouth spreads wide with Liam tipping back, his chest aching with its own rattling laugh.  His fingers drag slow circles around the small of Zayn’s back until Zayn’s eased into cool comfort on him.

They bathe in silence, the pastry nearly done but it’s become a forgotten piece of the equation.  No, it’s just the way Zayn’s fingers scratch down his neck, his own fingers leaving behind marks over Zayn’s back from pressing just hard enough that Zayn’s muscles relax completely.  It’s dreamy sweet and tangy tart with the sway of candles dying out one by one.

The moon chases warm blankets of light into the café once they’ve finished.  Liam clears the dishes while Zayn cleans up all of the candles, using the light from his phone to maneuver around all of the tables that are scatter-shot with shadows from the dark.  Liam chews on his thumbnail, bites on the tip of his tongue to stop himself from laughing at the way Zayn nearly trips over his own shadow a few times.  Zayn flips him off immediately, grinning while rubbing at the nape of his neck.  Liam feels a bit weightless, falling with no one there to pull him back.

“That wasn’t completely terrible, now was it?” Liam wonders, fingers tangled with Zayn’s as they move towards the door.

Zayn barks out a laugh, teeth nipping at his lip as he shakes his head.  “It wasn’t horrible.”

Liam nods with a small lift of his shoulders.  “I just didn’t want it to be – “

“Liam,” Zayn cuts in, smiling.  “It was quite nice.  Massively better than, y’know, I could’ve ever expected.”

Liam rubs at the back of his head, tucking his chin to hide his grin from Zayn.

“And maybe we could still hang out after?” Liam asks, his voice cracking with shyness strangling his throat.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, a quick nod.  “We could chill.”

“And kiss.”

Zayn snorts, nodding once more.  “Loads of kissing.”

“I could, I don’t know, hold your hand?” Liam breathes out, his tongue feeling heavy and those eyes, halos of citrine, are shaded by long, sweeping lashes.

“Or more,” Zayn offers, his smile slipping sideways over his mouth.

“More.”

“Loads more,” Zayn whispers, leaning in the doorway, the cold air sweeping thick flakes of snow across the threshold.  “I mean, after all, it is our third date.”

“Technically,” Liam snorts, inching in closer to Zayn.

“Yeah, technically,” Zayn says with a low chuckle.  “Most people usually make an event of the third date.  Loads of snogging and things like that.”

“What kind of _things_?” Liam asks, shuddering a breath against his confidence.  He watches Zayn’s armor fall away for a moment, pinned to the doorway with Liam crowding every inch of space left between them.  The snow dusts his shoulder, feels wet against his cheek but he clings to his resolve as his eyes trace the pattern of Zayn’s tongue across his full lips

“Kissing.” Zayn’s tongue strokes his lips again.

“Loads of it.”

“Touching,” Zayn shudders out, Liam’s free hand easing up his side, slipping warm fingers beneath the hem of Zayn’s shirt.

“Massive amounts, I hope,” Liam says with a snicker, his nose stroking Zayn’s cheek, lips skating over the corner of his mouth.

“Massive amounts,” Zayn stutters out, giggling when a breath of cold air trails against the path Liam’s lips travel over his cheek.  “Less clothing, I’d hope.”

Liam feels Zayn’s fingers curl into his shirt, tug at it.  He smiles against Zayn’s ear.  “No clothing.”

Zayn nods, hips rolling over Liam’s.  “But I rather like that kissing idea first.”

“Me too,” Liam laughs, the sound of a dark echo in his stomach, right in the center of his chest.

His fingers slide up Zayn’s chest, over his collarbone, his nose nudging Zayn’s cheek until Zayn turns his head a little and then his fingers press into the nape of Zayn’s neck.  He doesn’t let any of the words he can feel vibrating at the back of Zayn’s throat touch the too cold air.  He watches the white smoke of Zayn’s breath in the cold, the slight part of his lips and then he’s surging in.  He presses his lips to Zayn’s, a little messy at first because it’s not really the right angle or the best form, but he calms himself when he feels the urgent moan from Zayn’s mouth.  It’s a rough slide into gentleness like running from the fire into the wilderness, hiding beneath the shade of long branches.  It beats down on him like the sun in mid-August, lips pressing up and over Zayn’s.

Liam wills his breathing to even out, the soft tug of Zayn’s teeth on his bottom lip drawing up the corners of his mouth into a grin.  It’s a tumble effect, the way his fingers shift over that knot at the top of Zayn’s neck, Zayn’s blunt nails pushing at the small of his back until Liam’s pressing Zayn completely against the hard surface of the doorway.  Hot breaths, lips drawing back for air, closing in again like the hot spray of a shower.  Zayn’s tongue at the seam of his lips, the fire lifting higher until he can’t feel it anywhere except in his heart.  A soft moan of approval between them and he’s not sure if it’s from him or Zayn.  It’s an afterthought because Zayn’s sliding his tongue over Liam’s, the tip dragging against the roof of Liam’s mouth with Liam’s fingers sliding down the back of Zayn’s shirt.

He feels raw, breathless, needy like a newborn.  His lips throb from the ache, swollen when he draws back but Zayn’s chasing him with careful kisses that soothe the burn.  He’s ducking back in, slotting his mouth to Zayn’s to taste tomato sauce, garlic, the tart flavor of apples.  Fingers are leaving bruises against his skin, his lips tipping into a smile while Zayn kisses desperately at them.  It’s wearing everything down – the fear finally subsiding into a ghost of what it was – and he’s teased into a new high with the way Zayn’s mumbling nonsense against his lips while the cold spikes vengeful touches over their bodies.

“Mine,” Zayn whispers against his lips, the word swallowed by Zayn’s pants.  “Come back to mine.”

“We could – “

Zayn’s shaking his head immediately, licking at red lips like he’s trying to chase the ache inside of him with the taste of Liam’s mouth.  It draws up a grin on Liam’s lips.

“No, _mine_.  I don’t want them to interrupt us.  They will.  They’ll come check on you or want to know things or, fuck, Liam, _please_ ,” Zayn pleads, inching up for another kiss.

Liam gives it to him, fast and too quick.  He feels Zayn’s faint disapproval, pressing his forehead to Zayn’s.  It’s a flood – Zayn’s fingers digging impatiently at his skin, marking him further – of vulnerable emotions running from his toes to his hairline.  They shiver together against the cold and it feels desolate, a burnt out flame still gasping for the glow of an ember.

“Okay,” Liam finally concedes, fingers gripping Zayn’s chin to tip his head back.  Gold eyes are turned a coarse brown shade by his thoughts.  Lips are swollen, bitten raw, parted.  Cheeks are flushed and Zayn’s saying so much with so few words.

Liam leans in a final time, sealing their lips, kissing a promise to Zayn’s lips.  He’s pressing down firmly, making sure Zayn understands that he’s making the first move.  He’s expressing gratitude with the flick of his tongue because Zayn stayed.  He stayed and left this dizzy feeling inside of Liam with no signs of regret.

He let Liam fall and, with their fingers tangled, Zayn slipped down the rabbit hole with Liam.

**

It’s like a solar flare – Zayn’s lips sliding over Liam’s, his fingers sinking beneath clothing, across Liam’s skin, dragging down his back when Liam rolls his hips just right.  The room is too hot, fumbling toward the bed with a sweltering lust clinging to their skin like the sweat that has not yet broken.  Hands scratch down his back, his own fingers mindlessly working at Zayn’s shirt, the button of his jeans.  The sting of teeth at his neck, the scrape of Zayn’s stubble just above his collarbone does little to falter the burn of his thoughts, that need breaking right down the middle.

Liam loses his shoes somewhere between the door and the bed, Zayn’s kicked off in the middle of the room.  Zayn’s shirt strips away first, Liam’s mouth latching onto his collarbone, tracing curls of ink with the tip of his tongue.  The slow drag of metal on metal, his zipper lowering, pushes a smile against his mouth.  He sucks idly at Zayn’s neck, bruises turning bright scarlet red beneath his lips.  The rise of Zayn’s chest, slow deflation, stutters under his fingertips.  Zayn’s mouthing words – “Fuck.” “Need your fucking trousers off.” “Kiss me.” – against his forehead but Liam’s deaf to each of them.  He’s pushing Zayn back, _stumble-trip-fall_ , catching himself before he presses too much weight on top of Zayn.

It’s frantic, the way clothes burn off their skin – Liam’s shirt, Zayn’s socks, Liam’s trousers, Zayn’s getting caught around his ankles and neither seems to care about that.  The kisses are a little less controlled, Zayn licking at Liam’s canines, flicking his tongue over Liam’s.  Liam’s fingers drag through Zayn’s hair, a soft pull pushing a moan from Zayn’s lips while Liam works rough kisses down the column of Zayn’s throat, finding another patch of skin he has yet to mark.

“Boxers,” Zayn hisses, legs spreading once he’s kicked out of his jeans.  “Get ‘em off, yeah?  _Now_.”

Liam nods with a laugh, softer kisses over Zayn’s chest as he fumbles out of his boxers.  He’s kicks them to the floor, pressing his hips down until he’s pinning Zayn beneath him.  His cock, throbbing and leaking, grinds down against the soft material of Zayn’s briefs and they’re both cursing for not taking those off first.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” Liam whispers, his words choked by a moan when Zayn’s hand reaches between them to palm his cock.

“No need to be polite, Liam,” Zayn says, his grin sinful as he drags the soft part of his palm over the head of Liam’s cock.  “Just touch me.”

Liam grunts, strangles a growl as he pushes his lips against Zayn’s.  It’s openmouthed kisses, his tongue working to the back of Zayn’s throat while his hands dust all over Zayn’s skin.  He can feel the fingertip bruises Zayn’s leaving on his hips, the pressure pointed.  Zayn’s panting against his lips, lashes curled against his cheeks and his hips are canting upward, pleading for more.  Liam complies without a word, fingers hooking into the waistband of Zayn’s briefs while thrusting his hips against Zayn’s.  That electric slide of sweat slicks his forehead and the back of his neck, sliding down his spine as their bodies roll against each other on the small surface of Zayn’s bed.

He doesn’t know when it goes from a fever to something slow and hypnotic but he’s too lost to know up from down anymore.  He knows that last barrier of clothing left somewhere between Zayn sucking rough kisses against the bottom of his neck – bruises that’ll probably be a deep blue, purplish color by the morning – and them falling onto their sides.  His hand cradles the back of Zayn’s neck, lips inching kisses against Zayn’s.  Their legs are tangled together with no beginning or end.  His hand runs the hard surfaces of Zayn’s body, over the defined muscles, the thick hair on his legs, the knobs on his spine.

Breathless kisses, lips sliding delicately slow down his chest, moving up again to test the pressure they can put against his neck before Liam’s whining, reaching for more.  He’s gripping the sheets, trying to stay in focus but every time he blinks his eyes open, another piece of the dark room goes blurry.  He buries his nose in Zayn’s hair, tugging fingers through it as Zayn’s tongue flicks over a nipple, teeth dragging over his skin before he’s laying kisses over that dusting of hair in the center of Liam’s chest.  His stomach curls, clenches, his cock nudging Zayn’s hip until Zayn giggles against his collarbone, whispering things that Liam will never remember.

“Suck you,” Liam stutters out, his head tipping back when Zayn’s teeth nip at his Adam’s apple, lips pressing sweetly over his birthmark.  “Let me suck you, Zayn, yeah?”

“Eager,” Zayn snickers, his breath hitching when Liam wraps his thick fingers around the shaft of Zayn’s prick.  “Fuck, yeah, you can.”

“Make you feel amazing.”

“Already there, babe,” Zayn heaves out, dragging his fingers down Liam’s back while arching his own, fucking into Liam’s hand.

The world tips, gravity void, and Liam’s head is spinning.  He’s laying gentle kisses, sharp nips at Zayn’s stomach, over that silly heart tattoo that stands out so harshly with its dark ink against Zayn’s skin.  His tongue licks over Zayn’s thigh, Zayn standing in front of him with Liam sitting on the edge of the bed.  He avoids Zayn’s cock for far too long, Zayn’s hand slipping over his head with no hair to pull roughly on.  He’s making frustrated noises above Liam but Liam’s taking in every stretch of skin, sucking a small bruise in that space between the top of Zayn’s thigh and his stomach.  His tongue traces the words – _Don’t think I won’t_ – before le lays sloppy kisses over that olive skin.  He’s dragging his teeth over Zayn’s hip, sugary soft kisses melting just below Zayn’s navel while Zayn’s cock brushes his shoulder, leaking against his cheek.

The scent is heady, musky, definitely that sting of boy that Liam craves.  He mouths the head, his tongue flicking out to drag away that bitter precome.  He swallows it back, tonguing the slit until he can feel Zayn’s fingers scratching at his shoulder, knees buckling a little.  He curls his tongue around the head, fingers curling around the base because Zayn’s cock keeps jumping with every touch of Liam’s tongue.  He breathes on the taut surface, smiling against the shaft as he mouths his way down.  He climbs back up when his lips kiss at his own fingers, listening to the slow hiss of a moan ripped from Zayn’s chest.

“Fuck,” Zayn drawls out, a shuddering breath running along the sound of Liam’s low humming.

Liam does his best to be more than ordinary at this.  His lips close around the head, sliding down, saliva slipping from the corners of his mouth and onto his thick fingers.  It makes the glide easier when he goes as far as he can on the first try, eyes watering as he tries not to choke.  He draws back with a gasp, lips curling back around Zayn’s cock when Zayn mewls.  He breathes evenly, ties himself to that sweetness like honey.  His hand chases his lips when he moves upward, squeezing the shaft tightly as he pushes back down.  His tongue flicks over the slit, gentle kisses just beneath the head and Zayn’s spreading his legs a little further to make it easier on Liam’s neck.

Zayn’s hand cups the back of his head, never pushing but gently guiding.  His hips work slowly, testing the waters until Liam moans his approval, fingers slick with spit as he tugs on Zayn’s cock.  He can feel Zayn’s smile in his next groan, hips jutting up to push his cock into Liam’s mouth.  Liam catches the shaft with his tongue, shuddering at the way Zayn coos at him.  He grips his own aching cock, a few quick strokes to quiet that burn in his stomach but he knows if he continues, he’ll be streaking Zayn’s floor with his own come while Zayn’s cock rests against his jaw.

They find a rhythm, Liam sinking on his cock as Zayn gently pushes upward.  Zayn’s fingers pinch at the skin of his neck, Liam’s massaging the flesh at the back of Zayn’s thigh.  His jaw aches in that’s sweet, swelling way that spurs him on.  He’s careful with his teeth, grazing lightly over the head.  He sinks farther and farther every few minutes, the tip of his nose pressing at wiry dark hairs as Zayn shudders with a strangled mewl.

He pulls back to catch his breath, smiling at the shiny erection, licking at his lips.  He can taste Zayn there, bitter and sweet all at once.  He swipes his thumb over the head of his own cock, dabbing at the precome while his fingers gently push the foreskin back.  He looks up through his lashes, wiping away sparse tears from the corners of his eyes as Zayn gazes down at him with dark eyes, a soft curl to his lips.  Zayn blinks at him, the awe spreading, nipping at his bottom lip like he’s waiting for Liam to say something.  He’s waiting for Liam to do anything.  Liam thinks he could break Zayn with his mouth, thinks about giving it a go another time.

The thought alone – _another time_ – drizzles down his heart like the glittery dust from the most magical dreams.

Liam doesn’t leave Zayn waiting, working his lips back around Zayn’s cock.  He hollows his cheeks, Zayn’s fingers pinching a little harder this time, lets Zayn thrust into his mouth a few more times before he’s gripping Zayn’s hips to still him.  He bobs his head quickly, swallowing, the clench of Zayn’s breath a breathless symphony he could listen to for hours.  He loosens the muscles in his jaw, feels Zayn at the back of his throat, refusing to gag.  There’s a low drum in his head – _swallow, suck, lick, more tongue_ – as he finds a pacing that works for him.

He can feel Zayn moving above him, hands waving around, tight breaths that whistle through the air.  There’s sharp gasps, whispered warnings, Liam pulling off just before Zayn can come, gripping Zayn’s cock tightly.  He’s teasing him, he knows, but he’s unwilling for this to end.  No, he wants this to last forever and it’s thoughts like those that make him feel dizzyingly drunk, ready for the after burn in the morning.

He’s mouthing sloppy kisses at the head when Zayn swats at his shoulder, labored breaths slipping from his nose rather than his mouth.  Liam looks up, curling his tongue across the head, tonguing the slit.  He tries not to look amused, the sweat sticking to Zayn’s skin leaving a vibrant sheen to Zayn’s complexion.  He can taste the precome getting thicker again, resting on the edge of his tongue while Zayn tries to say something with his eyes.  His thoughts look clouded, crowded behind those long lashes and Liam has to pull away fully, deep breaths, with swollen lips and Zayn’s precome sticky against his lips.

“Fuck, I, fuck,” Zayn gasps, his chest rising and falling a little too rapidly.  He shakes his head, frustration building while waving a hand around.  Liam rubs gently at his thigh, soothing strokes until Zayn can piece together enough words to say, “I want you to fuck me.  I, fuck babe, I _need_ you to.  Like, _please_.”

Liam nods slowly, taken aback.  He’s not sure how anything inside of him functions anymore but he slides his hands over Zayn’s hips, thumbs stroking comforting touches over Zayn’s trembling body.  There’s something raw and hot in Zayn’s expression, the tip of a flame, and Liam wants nothing more than to bury his face in the crook of Zayn’s neck and remind himself that this is his now.

Zayn pulls the condoms and lube from Liam’s jacket – for once, he’s grateful for mates like Louis Tomlinson –, everything fumbling toward bliss.  They share a few kisses, ones that feel routine, others that last far too long because Liam’s thinking about forgoing the whole sex thing to lay Zayn back and figure out a way to express every thought he’s ever had through slow kisses.  Zayn pulls back first, smiling down at him and Liam nods, fights his way through the fog to move things along.

It takes them a moment to work their way through it all.  Zayn reads it in Liam’s eyes – he’s never done this before – before he slicks his own fingers with lube.  His hand is disappearing behind his back before Liam can blink away curiosity.  Liam’s certain he knows what Zayn’s doing, his mouth falling open, eyelids drooping, soft gasps parting his lips.  He wants to spin Zayn around, watch the way those fingers slip in and out of his hole but then Zayn’s making a motion and Liam’s nodding, tearing open the condom and rolling it down his cock.  He manages not to fuck that part up though it feels a bit foreign – he’s done it enough times with Danielle to remember to pinch the tip, move slowly as to not overstimulate himself, slick it with lube to help with the slide – and he leans back, elbows keeping him propped up as he watches the show before him.

Zayn’s arm twists a little, teeth sinking down onto his bottom lip.  Those gasps go a little deeper, eyes widening.  Liam grins, wonders how many fingers Zayn’s worked inside himself.  He spreads his own legs, his cock jutting up at the way Zayn’s starts to leak a thick trail of precome.  He swallows, admires the freckling of bruises he’s managed to leave across Zayn’s skin.  He can count the seconds between each of Zayn’s breaths, admiring the way those long lashes stretch like long shadows over Zayn’s cheeks when he pushes back against his hand.  The glow from his skin, Liam’s tongue instinctively running over his dry lips, shimmers against the fading light of the moon.  All of his tattoos are standing out against his skin, another slow moan pushed out of his chest before he’s nodding at Liam, riding a high that Liam urgently wants to be a part of.

His world turns fuzzy, languid kisses shared between them when Zayn straddles his hips.  He’s sitting upright now, fingers pressing into Zayn’s hips while his tongue slides over Zayn’s.  His thoughts are a quiet white noise in his ears – _I give a little into the moment like I’m standing at the edge_ – with Zayn’s hand on the nape of his neck, his other hand reaching behind his back, holding Liam’s cock loosely as he lines him up.

When the tip sinks in, the quiet hiss breaking from Zayn’s lips, Liam can think nothing but _tight, wet, warm, slick._ He cranes his neck up – _Just one more step, I could let go_ – to push comforting kisses to Zayn’s lips, thumbs rubbing gently into Zayn’s skin.  He feels the way Zayn shudders, sliding further and further down.  There’s small hesitating movements, Zayn adjusting while Liam tries not to lose himself in that tight grip.  The kisses fumble, slide sideways, sharp whines trapped in the back of Zayn’s throat.

“Relax,” Liam whispers against his lips.

“’s okay,” Zayn says, his voice raspy and tight like he’s holding in smoke.  “’ve got it.”

“ _Relax_ ,” Liam says again, softer.  He’s tone is gentle, lips moving slowly like the morning waves of an ocean.  He nuzzles his nose to Zayn’s cheek, down over his chin.  The heat burns, his hips desperate to push up into Zayn.  He lets a hand drop away, fingers curling into those silly blue sheets on Zayn’s bed as Zayn nods, slips lower on Liam’s cock.

His body bends to Zayn’s needs, everything moving slowly.  All of his thoughts move in a fury, blurred lines, streaks of patterns and lights that he can't interpret.  His hand slides from Zayn’s hip to his thigh, inching inward to rub at the soft skin there until Zayn’s keening, begging him to stop.

“I’ll come,” Zayn warns him, his cock standing erect and red against his belly.

“You will?”

“Sensitive there,” Zayn chokes out when Liam’s fingers rub circular patterns there.

Liam grins up at him, Zayn’s eyes shut and unable to see the way Liam’s eyes turn dark.  He nods for Zayn, shaking when Zayn finally bottoms out.  He untangles his fingers from the sheets, reaching back to rest them along the small of Zayn’s back, the tiniest hint of pressure pushing Zayn forward until they’re nearly chest to chest – _I hear the voices and they’re calling for me now. I know that nothing’s gonna wake me now ‘cause I’m a slave to the sound._

Liam’s lips run a river of kisses, soft licks over Zayn’s chest.  He presses them to those spread wings, catching a nipple as Zayn adjusts to Liam’s thickness.  The lift of his chest is slower, fingers rubbing absently at the back of Liam’s neck for a moment before he’s finally lifting up again – _And if it gets rough, it’s time to get rough_.

Liam’s rests his forehead against Zayn’s chest, cooling his own breathing as Zayn moves, a slow lift, an even slower slide back down.  He tangles their fingers together, drawing Zayn’s hand up to kiss over the bumps of his knuckles while Zayn finds a gradual rhythm.  The push and the pull, a stinging tug of war, claws at Liam’s senses until he’s nothing but sharp inhales, deep exhales, the heat of Zayn’s body burning him into ecstasy.  He presses his face into Zayn’s neck when Zayn slides back down, Liam completely sheathed in that tight, tight heat.  He mouths at the skin, fingers digging into the surface of Zayn’s back as Zayn grinds down onto him.

“Please, Liam,” Zayn whimpers, falling apart with Liam kissing at his neck.  “Need to move.  Just, let me, a little.”

Liam growls against his skin, hips reflexively jerking upward.  Zayn gasps, sharp and breathless, Liam grinning against the surface of another bruise.  He repeats the move, over and over, fucking into Zayn with Zayn keening, pushing back against Liam’s length.

“Ride me, babe,” Liam says, his voice husky and almost demanding.

Zayn nods briskly, lifting up and working back down like it’s all he knows.  There’s a sharp twist of his hips, Liam’s fingers tracing the curve of Zayn’s arse – _Don’t stop, no, I’ll never give up. And I’ll never look back_ – while Zayn’s teeth chew at his lip.

It’s sweaty, slick skin smacking, but neither of them seems to care.  Their kisses are restless, lips never staying together for too long before one’s moaning, the other encouraging him.  Their fingers drag blunt nails everywhere until their skin colors, red stripes like a tiger’s marks – _Now I’m going down and I can feel the eyes are watching us so closely._

Liam leans back, his mouth gone dry, watches Zayn bounce up and down with his cock flapping.  He grins, pleased.  He manages to steady a hand on Zayn’s hip, toes curling with his stomach tightening.  It’ll all be over too soon and he needs to watch Zayn a little longer.  He needs to know he’s done this to Zayn – ripped the animal from its cage.

Sweat slides down the center of Zayn’s chest, hands gripping onto Liam’s shoulders to guide himself downward.  Liam’s hips are snapping upward, meeting him halfway.  Eyes blink open, mouths hanging wide without a word to say.  They watch each other, Zayn worrying his bottom lip for a moment, Liam licking his own.  There’s some sort of feeling curling between them, every single piece of uncertainty breaking away like shattering glass.  They’re giving in, nodding at each other, drowning in this slow burning desire.  And, underneath all of the layers, Liam can see something else.  It’s there in Zayn’s eyes – _Into the fire, feeling higher than the_ truth – but it’s something so unfamiliar, quiet and loud at the same time.

It’s something that drags along Liam’s heart until he doesn’t know how to breathe without hiccupping out Zayn’s name.

Zayn’s incredibly tight around him, more so when Liam changes the angles of his hips and hits something sharp inside of Zayn.  He watches the slow slide of Zayn’s eyes falling shut, his head tipping far back to release a moan.  His thighs tighten on either side of Liam’s hips, knees digging into the mattress while whimpering for more.  Liam holds onto his hips, pushing hard into Zayn until Zayn loses his rhythm, falls off balance.  Liam smiles, holds Zayn steady, digs in deep until he’s hitting that spot repeatedly.

Liam feels Zayn’s legs spread wider, slipping further down Liam’s cock until Liam juts upward.  He’s letting Liam do most of the work now, a hand lazily fitting between their bodies to grab at his cock.  He’s holding it, not putting much effort into moving his fingers, and Liam can see it in his blissed out eyes – he’s lost in the sensations.  It drums against Liam’s senses, his own cock throbbing and that sudden rush is washing over his stomach.

His lips spread kisses over Zayn’s shoulder, his forehead resting against it as he snaps his hips against Zayn.  Everything is a blur now, sweat sliding down his temple, the slickness making it impossible for him to keep a solid grip on Zayn.  Zayn’s pulling at his cock now, still dangerously slow and patient but his fingers are slick and shiny from the precome.  Liam’s chewing at his bottom lip, breathing harshly against the hot skin of Zayn’s neck and Zayn’s whispering his name like it’s stuck to the tip of his tongue.

“Can make you come,” Liam offers, trying to wedge a hand between them.  “’ve got you.”

“No, ‘s okay,” Zayn heaves out, eyes sliding shut.  “’m about to.  Oh Li, ‘m ‘bout to.  Just, _fuck_ , a little more, yeah?”

Liam nods, gripping Zayn’s hips to fuck his hole down onto Liam’s stiff cock.  He can feel the clench of Zayn’s muscles, the throb of his own cock when he buries himself deep in Zayn.  Time is a forgotten memory of knowing anything before this.  But this?  Liam won’t forget this.  It’ll burn like that first heatwave mid-June in Wolverhampton.  It’ll last like a starry night slumber in the grass – _I can feel the heat but I’m not burning_.

His lower back is sore, thighs jumping from a need to move, his brow slick with sweat but he’s guided by the stinging lust gripping him.  Zayn’s whimpering above him, eyes fluttering open and closed.  The grind is a little less grating, the world buzzing with heat and short gasps for air – _Feeling desire, feeling tired, hungry too._

“Shit.”

“Oh, Zayn,” Liam moans, lips brushing lightly over Zayn’s shoulder.

“You’re going to make me – “

“On me, Zayn, yeah?  Come on me,” Liam asks, pulling back some to lean on his elbows.

Zayn nods quickly, teeth digging sharply into his lip.

There’s barely a look, an unsteadiness glazing over Zayn’s eyes when he twists his wrist, his thumb flicking over the head.  He comes over Liam’s chest, short spurts landing on his stomach.  It’s hot, thick, dripping over his abs and onto the sheets.  Zayn’s voice, raw and throaty, rings in his ears and he’s gasping for a breath, shaking against the sheets while Zayn trembles above him.

Zayn’s still holding himself when he finishes, his cock softening with a hand on Liam’s shoulder to steady himself.  His mouth hangs open, Liam still thrusting into him with erratic movements jostling Zayn.  Liam reaches down, dragging his thumb through Zayn’s come before lifting it to his mouth, sliding his thumb in to suck off the thick liquid.  It’s tangy, a bit bitter but he nibbles on his thumbnail while Zayn smirks, far too drained to say anything to Liam.

It doesn’t take Liam long to come after that, gripping Zayn’s hips to hold him still while he fucks his way through his orgasm.  It lasts long enough that Zayn looks raw and sore from the pressure, Liam shivering below him with his head pressed into the lumpy University mattress while lazily gazing up at the ceiling.  He feels the bed dip when Zayn collapses next to him, immediately curling to Liam.  Liam’s mouth curls at the corners, barely enough strength to push out a smile as he pats Zayn’s arse softly, some silly form of affection that has Zayn grinning into his neck.

His skin is sweaty, damp, come sticking and crusting against his skin.  He’s worn, feels disgusting and sated at the same time.  He smirks to himself, inching an arm around Zayn’s wiry frame to pull him in until he’s half-laying on top of Liam’s shivering form.  They curl into each other, small kisses that tiptoe on the edge of ecstasy.  He needs to clean himself off, Zayn too, take off the condom that feels gross against his soft cock now but he can’t imagine slinking away from Zayn.  He can’t see himself being too far from Zayn and he thinks that’s okay.

No, he thinks it’s the most incredible feeling he’s had in nineteen years.

“Amazing,” Zayn whispers against his lips, sighing quietly.

Liam feels his cheeks warm, the blush too hot in this cocoon of heat they’ve been living in for minutes now.

“Can I stay?” Liam asks because he can’t find the right words to tell Zayn it was more than amazing.  It was unforgettable, the kind of sex that was less about the physical and more about the feeling afterwards.  And this feeling… it’s a non-stop tingling that Liam’s sure he’s never going to be able to escape.

“Stay,” Zayn mutters, pressing his forehead to Liam’s.  “Don’t ever go.”

“Ever?” Liam bites on his grin.

“Ever, you fuck,” Zayn laughs, the sound breathy and dying before it passes Zayn’s lips.  “Cuddle me.”

Liam does.  He draws Zayn completely in, arms around Zayn’s back with Zayn’s hands resting flat on Liam’s chest.  Zayn buries his face into Liam’s neck, slow breaths indicating his exhaustion.  Liam slides a few gentle kisses against Zayn’s forehead, his nose burying into that thick, wrecked hair until Zayn stops shifting in his arms.

“This is nice,” Zayn says, his voice warm and sleepy.  “I mean, you and me.”

“Just you and me,” Liam says with a short laugh, tucking his chin to kiss Zayn’s temple.  “You and me.”

“We can do this again,” Zayn sighs out, the sharp grate of his scruff dragging along Liam’s neck.

“Sleeping together or,” Liam’s voice drops decidedly lower, thicker, “the sex.”

Zayn giggles, nodding.  “ _Both_.  Definitely the sex, yeah, but both.”

“I’d like that,” Liam admits, trying to center his smile.  It’s strong and vibrant, pushing at his round cheeks.

“Me too.”

Liam hums his approval, tightening his arms around Zayn.  He lets Zayn tangle their legs together, letting their bodies press down into the sheets until it feels like his own bed – _It feels like I’m falling away. I can hear them calling for me_.  He murmurs something quietly, waits until Zayn tips his head back before he’s diving in, pressing his lips to Zayn’s.  He coils around the hunger, the slow drag of their mouths against each other cooling him in ways he didn’t know he needed.  He doesn’t pull back, not until he has to, and Zayn stays there with him, losing himself just as quick.

**

There’s still nothing quite as mind-numbingly peaceful as lying in the middle of Harry’s floor.

The sun’s creaking through with waves of soft orange, bright yellows, tipping the sky the perfect sort of blue that you never quite forget.  It’s cold outside, bitter and unforgiving, but he can’t feel it here.  He can only feel the wave of the heat from the closeness, the unkind scent of some mid-grade stuff that Harry’s been smoking on and off for an hour now.  The music’s low – they’ve moved from Sheryl Crow to Soul Asylum, a little Oasis before sliding back into Sheryl Crow again – while Niall paces around Liam’s unmoving body, stumbling and cursing Liam’s existence.  It all feels… _normal_.  The way Louis prattles on about hating school again even though it’s still fairly early into January and they’ve barely been back a week.  Harry alternates between smoking, singing softly, and snuggling up to Louis despite Louis’ shit attitude – he’s mostly done with his second coffee for the day which is surprisingly good since Louis barely touched the stuff while they were on holiday break – while Liam watches it all from an upside down view.

“They’re all a bit mental, yeah?”

The whispered words, the lighting bright warmness that curls to him, the smile that’s pressed to the shell of his ear, the thick hair his fingers are curled into is not normal.  No, it’s something new, brilliantly blissful, and he’s certain he’s okay with it.

He’s certain it’s now the best part of lying on Harry’s floor.

Liam turns his head a little, smirking at Zayn, tracing his eyes through the slide of gold in those auburn eyes.  Those soft cheeks are stripped of the usual scruff Liam enjoys nuzzling his nose to.  The hair is a little longer on top, much shorter on the sides, and the sun halos over his skin like a warm blanket, that rich sunglow complexion accented beautifully.  Liam breaths it in, the scent of oranges and cigarettes, inching in to brush the end of his nose over Zayn’s, ears prickling with the wild sound of Zayn’s laughter.  His arm curls tighter around Zayn’s shoulders, ignoring the deadweight feeling it gets from Zayn laying his head on Liam’s bicep for too long now.  He accepts a brief kiss with a dreamy stillness, pretending not to hear the noises Harry makes from overhead as he passes, strong whiff of that pungent weed falling over them.

“You’re not seriously wearing that, are you?” Louis snaps, waving a hand about from where he’s curled on Harry’s bed.

“What?” Niall squawks, giving himself a quick onceover before glaring at Louis.  “There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.”

Louis rolls his eyes promptly, waving Niall off dismissively.  “You’re going on a date Ni, not a rock concert.”

Niall sighs, a stubbornness to his expression.  Maybe it was the Harry Effect – a term that Liam was rather proud of himself for inventing because, in a way, they’ve all taken on some trait from Harry that was sort of indefinable and annoying at the same time – that made Niall feel comfortable in his loose Clash t-shirt, beanie pulled down over that bright blonde hair, jeans hanging off his hips and a hoodie fitted baggily over the shirt.  It was a bit odd for Niall, if not altogether out of the ordinary, but Niall grinned at himself, adjusting the beanie so that the fringe of his hair hung over his forehead before flipping Louis off.  Harry snorted into Louis’ neck and things continued their slow slide into normality – well, as best it could be with this lot.

“You’re insufferable,” Louis sighs out, sliding his fingers into Harry’s curls and Liam’s pretty sure no one knows who Louis’ talking to but they all grunt out some sort of response.

“I’m not quite sure what that word means but I’ll take that it as a compliment,” Niall chews out with a grin, nudging Liam’s foot with the toe of his high top trainers.  Liam grins up at him, shaking his head.

“Google it,” Louis spits out, a defiant smirk to his lips.

“Suck it,” Niall hisses back.

“Hey!” Harry whines, lifting a finger toward Niall as a small, harmless warning.  “Those hurtful lips are mine.”

Louis’ azure eyes roll again, Zayn snickering into the crook of Liam’s neck.  “My knight in shining armor.”

Harry nods proudly before taking a slow drag from his joint.  Liam’s sure he missed Louis point completely but he doesn’t mention it.  He merely presses a kiss to Zayn’s forehead, nudging some of the lengthy fringe from his soft hair out of the way with his nose.  Yeah, it all feels completely normal.

“I don’t get any complaints from Josh,” Niall says with a sneer, dragging his zipper midway up his hoodie.

“Josh is daft,” Louis says with a teetering laugh.

“Hey, that’s one of my lads,” Zayn calls out, tipping his head back to look at Louis, upside down and sort of bleary.

“Yeah, well,” Louis says, waving a hand around to finish whatever words he can’t seem to find.  “You were pretty daft too.  Lucky my best mate is your boyfriend.”

Liam doesn’t even bother to fix his lips to utter a reply.  He doesn’t need to anymore.  He catches the look Harry shoots him – proud and buzzed – and he sort of doesn’t mind the way the blush settles against Zayn’s cheeks, his teeth pulling in his bottom lip like a child.  They hadn’t discussed it, openly, since they’d started this thing – he thinks he still hates how that word is used but he doesn’t complain – but Liam thinks, when he’s not in his bed alone anymore, that maybe that’s exactly what they are.  Maybe they don’t need official titles like Louis and Harry or a need to pretend it’s nothing when it truly is something like Niall and Josh.  Maybe they’re okay knowing that this want inside of them has cooled, this need for something they refuse to say it now said louder than any boom of thunder across the gray skies.

Liam thinks that maybe, after that fourth date, the fifth one, the weekend in London for the New Year, that trying to define anything about this thing with Zayn would just leave him dizzy and wanting to utter three words he’s been biting down on since he woke up in Zayn’s bed after their first date alone.

He turns his head a little, his vision falling out of focus when he catches that shy smile sliding over Zayn’s lips.  He snorts lowly, his own grin moving high and wide over his cheeks.

“Just you and me,” Liam whispers, holding in a breath until that spark ignites a smile over Zayn’s lips.

“You and me,” Zayn agrees with a small nod.  His lips press together, tongue licking over them like he’s waiting to say something else.  It’s rounding his eyes, his throat clearing.  “Tu meri jaaneman hai.”

Liam blinks at him for a moment, the words soft but strung with intention.  He swallows, something unconsciously wary in Zayn’s eyes that he clings against, leaning in to settle that concern curving the corners of Zayn’s mouth.

“You’re mine too,” Liam says with a grin, catching the way Zayn’s face lights up.  He’ll have to remember to thank Louis and Google when he’s grown tired of being swallowed up by those glittery gold eyes.

“Fucking gross.”

“Leave ‘em be, Lou,” Harry mumbles, wet kisses to Louis’ cheek leaving the other boy buried in his own blush.  “Can’t help that they’re in love.”

Zayn curls closer to Liam, fingers digging into Liam’s chest.  Liam swallows on a breath, trying not to tense up, his stomach tightening.  No one really says anything, the room a still quiet except for the slow strum of Sheryl Crow’s voice – _I’d be the last one to help you understand. Are you strong enough to be my man?_

“Yes, well,” Louis hums with a smile, nodding his head at Liam.

Liam nods back, tightening his arm around Zayn.  Niall laughs lowly, kicking at Zayn’s foot and that’s it.  They don’t say anything else about it.  Louis fusses at Niall about his choice of shoes, Harry puffs on his joint until it’s so small it burns the tips of his fingers, and Niall dances around Zayn and Liam, finding small, non-threatening objects to chuck at Louis’ head.  Harry grabs a couple of pictures of said thrown objects for his Instagram, grinning manically while Louis rolls his eyes.  He adjusts the angle of his phone before snapping a couple pictures of the upside down Liam and Zayn, something Zayn smiles at – he has yet to complain that Harry has tagged him in almost every post about Liam, even suggesting more than a few creative hashtags for Harry to use.

Zayn reaches up to run the tips of his paint-smeared fingers through the lengthier hair that’s started to grow on the top of Liam’s head, down the back portion like a hybrid between a quiff and a Mohawk – “Looks good on you, babe,” Zayn whispered somewhere in London, the blush singeing Liam’s cheeks.  He mouths quiet words against Liam’s neck – _‘love’ ‘Liam’ ‘you’ ‘babe’ ‘love you’_ – while Liam fights against the smile that’s been threatening to ruin him since that moment Zayn clutched onto that stupid teddy bear and held his head.  That stupid, fluffy teddy bear that still sits in Zayn’s room, staring at Liam late at night when Zayn’s curled around him, sleeping quietly with his nose buried in the crook of Liam’s neck.  Those lifeless eyes staring at Liam as he strokes Zayn’s back, pulls Zayn’s leaner frame on top of Liam’s wider body.  He’s gentling kisses against Zayn’s mouth until he’s smiling in his sleep, pleading with Liam to give him five more minutes before Liam’s drifting off to sleep with him.

Liam thinks falling in love is nothing like that thrumming hangover after a proper bender with your best mates.  No, it’s not that throbbing headache the next morning or that dizzying sickness that pulls at your stomach for hours even though you haven’t touched a drop of alcohol for days.  Falling feels nothing like sweat clinging to your skin, the lines blurred and unreadable, the loss of inhibition for a few more swallows of something that leaves your mouth dry and senses impaired.  It’s not that weak feeling that seeps over your bones or that regret that you feel right before it’s too late.

Falling for someone is something like breathing.  It’s controllable, in doses, but never optional.  It’s the soothing sensation of slow inhale, that sweet escape of an exhale.  It’s calming and terrifying in seconds.  The slow drag of oxygen, the way it happens when you don’t even notice it.  It’s there while you sleep, choking you on a high you’re not ready for.  The deep breath in right before you dive into something new or familiar.  It’s a necessity and a joy.  It hollows out your lungs during the best sex, leaves you weak and dizzy when you can’t get enough.  It’s the start and the unfortunate end of something wonderful.

Liam thinks falling for Zayn is definitely like breathing and he’s certain he doesn’t plan to stop doing either anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> So it wasn't too bad, yeah? I got a little restless by the end and I don't really know how I feel about the scenes after the pub but, I'm hoping, it was all tolerable on some level. I will say I had tons of fun writing the dynamics in all of the friendships and kind of fell in love with the way I ended up doing Liam/Zayn this time, taking away some of that heavy angst for something a little lighter.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://jmcats.tumblr.com) if you ever want to know what I'm working on next, playlists, my boring commentary on life. Thank you for taking the time to read this and if I don't get a chance to reply to your comment, please know I read them _all_ every day and smile knowing someone took the time to leave one. Ok, you can pretend you never read this now -- xx Jesse :)


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